Bleeding In Slow Motion - An Avengers Fanfiction
by Lavender Nebula Twilight
Summary: Revenge. Heartbreak. Chaos. HYDRA's back, and smarter than ever. Vulture hungers for revenge on Peter. To face the threat so quickly rising to dominance, the Avengers must reassemble. But it's not easy for everyone. Memories of blood spilled on Siberian soil burn within the Avengers' two opposing leaders, tearing them apart. HYDRA's plan is completely shrouded in darkness. Rated T.
1. Prologue - Unofficial Father

Thanks for clicking on my Avengers Fanfiction: _Bleeding in Slow Motion!_ Let me tell you a little bit about the book.

* * *

 _ **Synopsis:**_

Revenge. Heartbreak. Chaos. HYDRA's back, and smarter than ever. Vulture hungers for revenge on Peter. To face the threat so quickly rising to dominance, the Avengers must reassemble. But it's not easy for everyone. Memories of blood spilled on Siberian soil burn within the Avengers' two opposing leaders, tearing them apart. HYDRA's plan is completely shrouded in darkness. Rated T.

* * *

 _ **Excerpts:**_

"Well, what do you propose?" I entwine my fingers with Pepper's.

Bruce averts his eyes.

"Bruce…?"

"I really don't think– ."

"Do you have an idea?"

"Yes, but– ."

"Stop with the hesitating or I'll trap you in one my suits for a day. Spit it out."

"What if you…you know…" he reaches for an object on the table and tosses it to me, "get 'em together again?"

I drop my gaze to the item in my hands and a rush of electricity causes my eyebrows to skyrocket.

The old flip phone.

Steve's voice rings in my head.

 _"_ _So, no matter what, I promise you, if you need us. If you need me. I'll be there."_

* * *

"I _do_ remember…"

I jerk my head up.

"…calling you… _stupid_ a lot."

I force down a laugh. "I remember that too. And it wasn't just stupid, but many other things." My cheeks lift slightly as a pleasant memory intrudes.

 _Bucky nudges my shoulder. "Come on, you're kind of missing the point of a double date. We're taking the girls dancing."_

* * *

Arms spread wide, feet planted, Rhodey inhales. "So I take the tank, fly it right up to the General's palace, drop it at his feet, I'm like, 'Boom! You looking for this?' "

I stifle a giggle at the complete silence that follows. Scattered, unenthusiastic claps break the quiet. Tony shrugs. "Sorry, Rhodes. Who wants to hear a _better_ story?"

Everyone cheers.

"I know just the man." Tony hollers into the next room. "Point Break, get your royal behind in here!"

Another growling voice bounces back. "Forget it, Stark, the fate of the universe is in my grasp!"

Tony rolls his eyes. "Fine. That man is playing Galaga. Leave him to his games."

* * *

 _ **Foreword:**_

I recently became a Marvel fan! I never really cared for the MCU that much until I saw Spiderman: Homecoming, and I was sooooooooo blown away! I've been reading Fanfiction, chatting about Marvel with my friends, watching the movies both by myself and with them... Ugh, it's getting real. :) Anyway, after seeing Avengers: Infinity War about a week ago, I got an urge to start a fanfiction. I'm super duper excited for this, as it's not only inspired by my love for Homecoming and Infinity War, but my mere love for Peter and Tony's relationship and them as separate characters! Yes!

 ** _ANYWAY, about the book._** This is a first person, present tense fanfiction that will switch between the perspectives of Tony, Peter, and others. The lengths of my chapters will vary depending on what cliffhanger I want to end with, my style of writing, the context of the chapter, and stuff like that. The prologue isn't that long, but I'm hoping the first chapter will be pretty lengthly. Rated T for violence.

The things above were written when I first started this book. As I'm writing these words right now, I've seen every single MCU movie and have updated the "warnings" below.

 _ **I want to point out a few things before you dive in (edited as the book has been further in progress).**_

 **One:** This book takes place one year after the events of Homecoming.

 **Two:** Even though I may say this is an Avengers Fanfiction, IT ORIGINALLY BEGAN AS A SPIDERMAN FANFICTION. That's why you might see mentions of a "Spiderman Fanfiction" in some of my author's notes. That is also why the first chunk of this book revolves around Peter.

 **Four:** I'm not shying away from doing terrible things to characters, even killing off some crucial ones. I'M GOING TO KILL CHARACTERS. PERIOD.

 **Five:** I reference almost every single MCU movie in this fanfiction. The main ones being...*tries to remember*...probably Age Of Ultron, Winter Soldier, Civil War, and Spiderman: Homecoming.

 **Six:** I try my very very best to line everything up with canon and, frankly, I think I do pretty well with it most of the time. That being said, there are events in the MCU that, for the story's sake, I change and provide an explanation for. FOR EXAMPLE: I make it so the events of Thor: Ragnarok never happen for the story's sake. Therefore: Asgard is still present and Bruce is still with the Avengers.

 **Seven:** I DO NOT SHIP ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS THAT ARE NOT CANON. The relationships that I touch on, even slightly, are as follows: Pepperony (PepperxTony), Steggy (StevexPeggy), Brutasha (BrucexNatasha), Thane (ThorxJane. IDK if that's the actual shipping name, but I just made it up now), Claura (ClintxLaura), and ScarletVision (WandaxVision). Those are the only _romantic relationships_ that I explore in this book. The friendships, or "broships" that I touch on are as follows: Steve and Tony, Clintasha, Peter and Tony, and Bucky and Steve. Those are all of the ones I can think of right now.

 **Eight (MOST IMPORTANT "WARNING"):** Okay, so I'll start by saying that I have read fanfiction before that are obviously written by a beginner writer. There's nothing wrong with that, I just mean to say that they usually tend to be a bit less heavy and emotional. Some fanfiction on this site are one-shots, or just a couple chapters. This book is not like that. When I write a story, with my own characters or not, I strive to make it a _novel_ , and I'm dead serious about it. _This isn't just a short story, multi-chapter fanfiction. I love writing, storytelling, fiction, all of the above. This will be a full-length novel with plot, pacing, ebb and flow, structure, conflicts, etc. Same with my other novels. I strive to improve always and I want my novels to be as real as possible_ _._

I don't write to make readers happy all the time. I write to take readers on a journey that they'll want come back to. Yes, that includes happy, touching moments of sincerity and peace, but that also includes events that destroy the characters. Emotionally, physically, all of the above. I challenge the values of these characters by ripping their stability out from under them to test the bounds of my storytelling abilities.

 **I deal with heavy, emotional things in this book: Grief, depression, major deaths, old emotional scars, growth and change as a result of loss and cost... But, I promise you, this will be worth your time if you so choose (hopefully).** While I do write some pretty weighty stuff sometimes imo, I write to take people on a journey, whether they're my characters or not, and this book is no different. I am very passionate about this fanfiction and hope my writing will show that. With every obstacle comes struggle and triumph. No character will be left hanging in a dark spot through the course of this story.  
So, I implore you...if you read a couple chapters and you like them...keep going! _The book gets more emotional as it progresses, and, I will admit, I have left a fanfiction before because of the heavy emotional content (and also partly because it is not resolved, and that is unsatisfying), but with some of those such fanfiction, I have kept going and persevered to the end to find that the writer resolved every problem and left the reader with a satisfaction and bittersweetness that's so great that it feels like...a journey. THAT'S WHAT I WANT READERS TO FEEL WHEN THEY READ THIS AND COMPLETE THIS._  
So please, if you consider leaving because of something I do or make a character go through, then it is your choice to pick which option to go through with, but just know that I will resolve every emotional problem that the characters face. :D

But at the same time as I say all of this, I understand that my writing isn't for everyone. _**There are going to be people who just don't connect with my writing and what I make the characters go through, and that's okay.**_ Just because I'm saying all this, don't feel forced to continue if you genuinely don't like the story and/or my writing. That biiiiiiiggg "warning" number eight was geared toward people who, for example, loved the story, then got to a part that was a little emotional for them and made them feel things that they didn't come here expecting to feel, therefore making them consider leaving.

OKAY MOVING ON–

* * *

 **I love reviews also!** And not because I'm bragging and I want y'all to tell me how great I am. Do you come across a chapter that you think could be improved upon? Some error you notice? Tell me! I strive to improve. :D But if you really like a chapter or something, again, let me know!

* * *

Anyway, I love writing this! Hopefully y'all will enjoy this as much as do.

 _ **Disclaimer:**_

 _ **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.**_ _ **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it. Got it? Good. Let's begin.**_

* * *

Prologue - Unofficial Father

"Rhodey, ever since Vulture, I've only been trying to keep Peter safe. He's too reckless for his own good."

"But setting a tracker in his backpack isn't going to help at all, Tony. If he finds out that you're keeping a watch on him even outside of his Spidery-business, that's going to aggravate him even more."

I massage my temple with one hand, the other holding the phone to my ear. "If the ship incident taught me anything, it's that I can't trust Peter when he says he's going to stay away from Spiderman, even for a little while. If I know Peter, which I like to think that I do, then regardless of my efforts he's going to get himself hurt trying to help people."

"That Vulture's plans ended only a year ago, Tony. The kid's probably still keeping it low for now."

"That won't last forever. Peter was affected by what happened in those few months. He even turned down the offer of being an Avenger. But he's going to get tired of being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, just like before. He's going to start asking me for missions, and when I say no, that's going to annoy him to the point of lying and trying things on his own. And his aunt will blame me if anything happens to the kid."

Rhodey's sigh crackles from the other end of the phone line. "Tony, you've got to stop acting like an overprotective father."

"I can't help it. Peter, he's…" a pang strikes my chest as I picture the teenager's smile, "he's the closest thing I have to a son. I can't let anything happen to him."

"He's sixteen, not six. He can take care of himself."

"But if he dies out there, then– ."

"Then that's on you, I get it. Tony, we've had this conversation before. It's real parental of you to try and look after him, but you can't baby him. You can't put him in a cage and expect him not to fight back. You need to let him be sometimes, even if that means he learns a few hard lessons in the process."

I lean back on the bench, another sigh pushing itself from my chest. My eyes wander through the park scene. A few kids scramble on the slide and several others on the swing set. The Queens high school and the long-since-sold Avengers Tower loom in the distance. Both buildings glitter in the sunlight. This city is at peace, but for how long? How long until another shady character like Vulture emerges to commit crimes?

Crime comes and goes. Burglars flood in, they get caught, they get sent to jail, done. Over. Nothing else to it. That's simple. The police can handle that.

Unless Peter doesn't stop those burglaries first.

He's going to get himself caught up in saving the small illegal squabbles, his second life whirling on the news in flashes of color and monotonous reporters' voices. He'll swoop in, save the day, and dive right back out. He'll only get cockier. That's what led him to believe he could face Vulture alone and win.

But Vulture… No. That had gotten way too bad way too fast.

Something severe to that scale could happen again. What if–

"Tony?"

"Uh– yep. Sorry."

"Were you listening to a word I just said?"

"Yes, you said my name. I heard you." I can almost sense my friend's irritation through the speaker.

"No. Before."

"I did. And as much as I don't want to admit it, you're right."

"Of course I am."

I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips. "Thanks for your wisdom, pal."

"Anytime."

"Sometimes, though, I wonder if you even have any to give."

"Ha ha, very funny."

"Wish you were here, buddy. Send a postcard from over seas, will ya? Don't let that mission drag you down."

"You got it. See you, Tony."

Rhodey hangs up and I shut my old flip phone, stuffing it in my shirt pocket. After a few minutes, the children at the park depart, leaving me alone on the bench. Almost unconsciously, I rub my left shoulder, grimacing as a tiny flare of pain stings the muscles. I allow my mind to wander, drifting over the past few years worth of events as I pace around in the mulch.

I had been skeptical about recruiting Peter at first, but now I reckon it's one of the best things that's happened to me. Aside from being reckless and completely against most of my safety rules, the kid's got guts. I chuckle, counting on my fingers. "Strong, not just physically, nerdy deep down, dorky, awkward, smart, capable of responsibility…" I trail off. Goodness, I miss that kid.

Even though Peter had refused the possibility of being an Avenger, we've still kept up with each other. A whole thirty minutes separates the compound from his house. Tech-business has kept me from our usual visits, but finally I'd gotten the chance to drive down to Queens. Take a break from working. We'll get to talk again. Wonder what's going on with him. School, grades, friendships…

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not his father.

Shaking my head, I rise from the bench, running a hand through my hair.

All right. Where to now?

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Looks interesting? Keep going! This is just the beginning...

Read and review!

\- Lavender


	2. Chapter One - Nightmares On Wings

I'm so so excited to post the first chapter of my Spiderman fanfiction! I spent a good long time writing this one and I'm really happy with the result.

I just saw Spiderman: Homecoming last night for the third time this week and I was so pumped to write this afterward that I just went and finished the chapter that night.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter One - Nightmares On Wings

Flames. Orange tongues devouring plane remains. The scattered purple of alien cores.

Hissing sand. Blood, slippery and wet on my hands. Someone's breathing hard.

A constant ringing fills my ears. Smoke stings in my watery eyes and blends everything together, creating a thick, painful haze.

Vulture explodes from the fumes.

An escape attempt reminds me– my web fluid's depleted. Massive claws hook around my shoulders and the predatory nemesis ascends into the foggy air. Vulture's speed is so intense that the colored lights of Queens are nothing but radiant blurs to my right. The fiery wreckage scene below fades into the smoke and clouds, misting over in flickers of orange and purple.

The only home I've ever known grows smaller and smaller under my dangling feet. Blood oozes from the talon wounds as I'm whisked farther upward. Another scream tears itself from my throat.

Higher, higher, higher.

Vulture's eyes emit a hollow, red gleam.

"Pe…t…r…"

Vulture releases me and I plunge downward, wind slashing at my face.

"P…ter…!"

I emerge from the clouds to find myself falling directly toward the merciless flames. I have no willpower over my body. I can already discern the searing heat and the alien cores detonate one by one.

Vulture grabs my legs and jerks me to a halt, flipping me over and ripping my chest open with a single slash. Bloodstained claws send me barreling into the fire.

Dancing lights consume my body, eating everything. Scalding, white-hot pain crawls up my neck. I'm convulsing on the ground, writhing as the torturous acrobatics reveal nothing but withered, black flesh.

" _Peter!_ "

My eyes snap open.

Ceiling. Window. Faces.

My muscles erupt into action, groping violently to escape from my own mind as the thoughts of the fire and Vulture overwhelm me.

Somewhere, I hear my name. Hands pin me down. Still, I struggle.

Faces. Words. Gasping.

Nothing registers in my head. Just the heat. The pain. Vulture.

After what feels like an eternity, my wrestling slows.

"That's it, Peter… Calm down. Breathe…" A woman's voice. Familiar.

 _What? Who's…?_

The faces swim into focus. When at one point I thought there'd been many blurry prospects, now there are only two.

Aunt May. Ned.

The rest of the world brightens around me. I'm lying in my bed, perspiration soaking my skin and dampening my sheets. The blankets twist around my legs, my breathing unsteady. I'm trembling with every exhale and tear stains dry on my cheeks.

Wait. What just happened?

A warm, gentle hand passes over my vision and swipes a strand of hair out of my eyes. May.

"Hey, Peter. You with us, man?"

Ned.

Instead of answering, I pull my quivering arms behind me and push myself off the bed a few feet. Avoiding the worried looks and glancing around my room, I familiarize my mind once more with the current state of events.

A sleeping bag rests in an awkward position on the floor and beside the pillow sits a thick book and a nightlight. Right. Ned had slept over. We'd stayed up late last night, discussing Spanish, Algebra, the Stark internship, and just catching up with each other, not to mention building some new Lego sets.

"Peter?"

I direct my attention to May, her lips pursed and her eyes wide. She squeezes my arm, giving me a tiny smile.

Realizing that my eyes are wider than they feel to be, I blink a few times and focus on my aunt.

"You okay, tough guy?"

I move my right hand over to Aunt May's, gripping it like a lifeline. That nightmare… Never before had one been so warped, so brutal, so sudden. It's only when Aunt May pulls me into her arms do I notice that I'm shivering and that tears roll down my face again.

"It's okay, it's okay… It was just a dream."

Accepting her embrace, I curl into her arms.

"Just a dream…"

Seconds stretch on into minutes.

I don't know how long I'm nestled in May's hold, but when she lets me go, Ned spares a glance at the clock and gives a cry of exclamation. He's out of the room before I can ask him what's the matter.

With one last hug, Aunt May leaves me to my thoughts.

My gaze darts to the open window where a sweet, morning chill wafts in from the outside world. Thoughts of swinging between buildings and flipping in the air on resilient webs prompt a smile on my face and I lug my heavy body off of the bed. Within a couple of seconds, I'm slipping into the Spiderman suit and folding the mask over my face, heading for the window.

"Hello, Peter."

I stifle a cry and stagger backward, whipping around to seek out the voice.

"What's the hurry?"

"Oh… Hey, Karen. It's-it's nothing– I'm just gonna swing around for a bit. Help some people, catch some robbers, do some flips. It'll be fun. It'll help me feel better."

The door opens behind me.

"Dude, where do you think you're going?"

I whirl around. Ned stands in the doorway, his jaw hanging open and a backpack slung over his shoulder.

I pry off my mask. "Uhhh… I'm-I'm gonna go do the Stark internship. Why? Does someone need me?"

"Peter, the bus'll be here any minute."

I stare at him for a few seconds, contemplating his words. My heartbeat escalates sevenfold.

School.

"Oh, crap– it's a school day!" I kick the door closed and toss a jacket and jeans on, covering my suit. Shoving my mask in my backpack, I wrench the door open to find Ned still standing there, waiting for me.

"The bus pulled up out front. You got everything?"

I run through a list in my head, then nod. As we're racing for the door, Aunt May stops me on the welcome mat.

"I'll see you in the bus." Ned pats me on the shoulders and departs.

Aunt May cups my chin in her hands. "You gonna be okay, Peter?"

"Yeah." My low voice is barely above a whisper.

"If anything happens, anything at all…call me."

I flash a quick grin in answer.

"Do you want to talk about your dream after school?"

My stomach clenches and it takes all of my willpower not to shout no in her face. Instead I shake my head, putting on a confident expression.

May kisses me on the forehead and traps me in a fierce hug. "I love you."

"I love you too."

She withdraws and strokes my hair a few times. "Try to have fun."

"If only."

"See you later."

I meet Ned in the bus and take a window seat, resting my chin in my hand and my elbow on the windowsill.

"Peter– ."

"I don't want to talk about it if that's what you're asking." My rebuke exits sharper then I'd meant it to, but an apology couldn't be farther from my mind. My nightmare, wonderfully enough, is at the front of it.

The bus jolts into motion.

I say nothing at first, however, soon strive to start a conversation with Ned. After a few minutes of small talk, I'm beginning to perk up.

"So, Peter, how's the Stark internship?"

My heart skips a beat. "Ned, shut up!" I drop my words down to a whisper. "You can't talk about that here."

Flash smacks me in the shoulder. "Stop talking about your Stark internship, Peter. It's not real. We all know that."

MJ snaps her book shut. "Could you quit your whining? I'm trying to read."

Flash stops bugging us.

Ned's smart this time and dodges the topic of the Stark Internship. Instead, he prompts a different conversation. "So, Peter… Who's your favorite Avenger?"

"Ah, come on! That's an impossible question!"

"I like Thor…"

"Of course you do."

"Come on, Peter, who's your favorite?"

"Well, Mr. Stark isn't here, so I don't have to say Iron Man. But I like…Black Widow."

"Really?"

"She's cool! And we're both spiders."

"Hawkeye's pretty awesome."

"They're friends. Black Widow and Hawkeye."

Ned's eyes widen. "I heard about that! That'd be awesome… To be friends with an Avenger!"

"I know– ." My phone buzzes. I fish the iPhone out of my backpack and answer it after shooting a look at the name.

"Hey, Mr. Stark."

"Hey, kiddo!"

"What's up?"

"I thought I'd give you call and see how great your life is. You missing me yet?"

"Nah."

"Ouch. What's your status?"

"I'm on the bus."

"Right. I forgot you kids still have to educate yourselves. You want me to call you back later?"

"It's fine, Mr. Stark. I don't mind."

Ned taps my arm and lowers his voice. "Tell him about your dream. You might as well tell Mr. Stark if you're not gonna tell me or May."

I glare at him, unconsciously responding in a louder whisper. "No! I can't tell him that! There's no reason why he'd want to know something like– ."

"Tell me what?"

I freeze at Mr. Stark's gravely tone. _Crap. Make up a lie._ "Uhh– it's nothing, Mr. Stark. Ned and I have been building some new Lego sets and we've been thinking about combining some to make them cooler and– ."

"Okay, I'm going to stop you there. Don't even think about lying to me, Peter. You know that doesn't work. What's going on?"

"I– ." A shiver trails down my spine as thoughts of the dream pop into my head. "Can we talk about it later?" I purse my lips at the pairs of judgmental eyes trained on me.

"Fine. You'd better tell me sometime though."

My voice reduces an octave. "I know, I know… Why do you care so much?"

"If something's wrong, maybe I can help. Come on, it can't be that bad."

I hold back a groan. "All right… Vulture still bothers me."

"I'm not surprised. You didn't think you'd walked out of last year without any scars, did you?"

"No, but– ."

"It's common to still struggle with things like that. I have a lot of memories from past mistakes and stupid decisions that stick with me."

"What do you do?"

Mr. Stark hums. "Y'know what, it's a bit complicated. Or– well– there're a lot of things that I do. It depends on the situation. For you, it's gonna be different then if I'd tripped in my own bedroom. Want to talk after school?"

"Sure. Thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Anytime, kid. Now."

"Now?"

"How's school?"

"Boring."

"Well, that's nothing new. Tell me something new."

"There's never anything new at my school anymore since last year."

"If you say so. Anyway– Oh, sorry, Peter. I've gotta run. Bruce's visiting for a meeting any minute."

"Okay."

"See ya, Peter."

"Bye, Mr. Stark." I hang up and return my phone to the backpack.

Ned exchanges a look with me. "You okay?"

I nod.

The high school swerves into being beside the bus.

"Here's our stop, Peter." Ned lifts his backpack and I trudge out of the door with him at my side.

I don't get five steps out of the bus before Flash darts past me, whacking me in the head. I bite back an insult and watch him leave. Of course. Just another typical day at school. Consistent. Slow.

Nothing new. Nothing at all.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Oooooh, what do ya think's gonna happen at school today? Hmm... Wait and see til the next chapter!

But anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, whoever you are.

There were two things in particular that I wanted to highlight in this chapter.

One: That crying and/or vulnerability are not bad by any means. In fact, they're both good things. Seeing a fictional character cry or break down when you've never seen them like that before makes them more human in my opinion. It makes someone connect with that character in a different way, to see them in a new light. Peter is a teenager. From watching the movie, I'd say he doesn't have the type of stone-cold personality that would stop him from crying. He did cry a few times in Homecoming and, again, I think it makes him more human. It reminds us that he's just a kid.

The second thing is this: That Peter's experience with Vulture affected him way more than it seems in the movie. I know that it looks all great and triumphant on screen, but if something like that actually happened in real life to a teen like Peter, no matter how much he's used to fighting crime, that would still terrify any sane human being and give them nightmares of some kind. I had a friend a few days ago who was surprised when I told him that I was making Peter have a nightmare about Vulture. xD

Remember: I'm ignoring the events of Ragnarok and making it so they don't happen.

Read and review!


	3. Chapter Two - Window's Rock

I've been so hyped to write this chapter. There were a lot of things that I wanted to make happen, but now they're finally written down! I want to try to do longer chapters than I usually would do in my books.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Two - Window's Rock

Science, Algebra, and Spanish rush by in a blur. After dodging a few of Flash's snide remarks, I stride out of Spanish class to meet Ned in the hallways.

"Hey, Peter."

I murmur a low-spirited response.

"What'd you say?"

"I kept zoning out in class. I can't seem to focus."

Ned shrugs. "Well, the best we can do is go get some lunch. They're serving pizza at the cafeteria today."

Even the thought of my favorite food doesn't cheer me up. A strange sinking feeling's been growing in my stomach and getting stronger with each class. My mind had continuously drifted and multiple times, I'd found Ned poking my arm and the teachers staring at me with their heads tilted and their eyebrows raised, expecting an answer to a question I didn't hear. The tingling sensation that had begun during Algebra is flooding through my system, prompting spontaneous shivers when I least expect it.

I deposit a few of my textbooks into my locker and follow Ned to the lunch room. We snag seats beside each other and Ned digs in at once. The tingling isn't as fierce here, for which I'm grateful.

Ned and I finish our meals a few minutes apart. MJ spots us and sits at the end of our table, giving us each a nod before eating her own lunch.

Depositing my lunch in the trash and returning the tray to its proper place, I walk back to my seat. As always, we're alone at the back of the room. Usually Ned and I would be chatting, but not today. I can't stop pondering my dream and, frankly, it's hard not to think about the Spiderman suit under my jacket.

I fidget in place. The tingling zaps into my brain all at once and I bolt around, checking every shadow and corner.

"Peter?"

Ignoring Ned, I scrutinize the circumference of the room. My chest constricts as a faint silhouette moves near a window, darting around for a bit before ducking out of sight. My arms prickle and every muscle goes rigid. _Someone's there._ I'm about to get up and investigate when Ned pulls me back into my seat.

"What's going on, dude?"

"Someone's over there! I've gotta go see who it is!"

"But we've got Robotics class soon."

I shoot upward, flinging my backpack over my shoulders and zipping around the corner, my back against the wall. Ned hurries close behind, his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Something's going on. I need to learn what it is." I slide beside a group of lockers, my gaze set on the double doors leading outside.

"You can't just leave school."

"Why did you think I brought this?" I lift my sleeve to unveil the red and blue garment.

Ned's eyes bulge. "Dude, you don't want to get yourself into trouble. You've already had a broad history of detention and running away."

"And why do you think that is, Ned?" I fix him with an irritated look. "I'm Spiderman. I have another life. I can't just sit down and let people sneak around and do illegal things." Stuffing my backpack in my locker, I slam it shut and round the corner, every muscle tense. With a deep breath, I rush for the doors and break out into the light. My body on high alert, I scout the entire clearing. No one.

"I don't see anyone, Peter."

"I wasn't seeing things. I swear I saw something. I'm going to check every window."

"Are you sure that's a good– ?"

"Shut up! I do this kind of thing every night. You don't have to come with me." I travel from window to window, examining the glass and running my hand along the edges. I'm at the last window and still, nothing. I conclude my final inspection and groan.

"Whoever they were, they're gone now."

"I didn't see anyone."

Resting my back against the glass, I cross my arms. "You weren't even looking."

"But you weren't either."

"I felt a tingling. It was probably my spider senses. That guarantees that it was real."

Ned scans the area. "There's no evidence of anybody being here. Think about this, Peter. It was probably just another student hanging outside during lunch break."

I scowl at the ground. "You're probably right, Ned. Ever since– ." I cry out and flinch away from the window as a stab of pain strikes the nape of my neck.

"Peter?"

My hand flies to the source and comes away with a smear of blood on my pointer finger. "I-I don't… What _was_ that?" I approach the window again. "There's nothing there."

"Maybe a rock fell on you."

"A rock?" I cock an eyebrow at him. "It must've been a pretty sharp rock."

"Peter! Ned!"

Both of us turn toward the doors. MJ is sticking her head out, a book under her arm.

"Y-yeah?"

"Robotics class. Come on."

Ned and I trade unenthusiastic looks and trail after Michelle.

The rest of the day is much the same as the first half. My spider senses don't bother me as much and therefore I'm able to focus better. Regardless, I can't help drifting in and out a few times.

When my last class ends, I'm already yawning.

Back in the hallways, I slog toward my locker and retrieve my books. Fatigue is dragging me down and my eyelids carry the weight of anchors.

"You look really tired, Peter."

"Hmm?" I glance to the side to discover Ned cross-examining me. "No, it's okay. I didn't sleep that well last night. I'm fine." To be honest, I'm struggling to pinpoint why I can't seem to keep my eyes open. I'm usually bored out of my mind after one day of school, but never _this_ sluggish. I decide to blame it on my nightmare and plod along amid the throng of departing students.

"Let's take a detour. There's too much traffic in the hallway."

I bob my head vigorously, agreeing with Ned's suggestion. We retreat into a different passage. After a few minutes, I find myself rubbing my eyes.

"I'm so tired… I should probably– ."

Ned grabs my arm, stopping me in place. "Peter, look."

"What…?" I drop my hands to my sides. All of my drowsiness vanishes at the sight before me.

In the room ahead, there are few figures hugging and talking together. Two of them are girls I've seen around in my classes, but the other teen is one I recognize with a twinge in my stomach.

Liz.

 _What? What's Liz doing here?_

"I'll bet she's visiting with her friends. It's been a year since she moved and it's no surprise that she'd want to see them in person again."

Memories flash in my head. The Academic Decathlon. Washington DC. The Homecoming Dance. Liz's party. Vulture.

Ned shakes me by the shoulder. "Peter, you should go say hi."

I pivot on my heel and gape at him. "Are you out of your mind? No!"

"Why not?"

"Liz probably hates me! With everything that I made her go through last year, I…I can't face her after that."

"You're Spiderman, Peter! You saved her."

"Liz doesn't know that. She knows Spiderman as the person who captured Vulture, saved her from the elevator in DC, and stopped the ATM robbery. She knows me as the stupid kid who abandoned everyone at the Decathlon, left her party two minutes in, dumped her at the Homecoming Dance, and was constantly absent and disappearing from school."

"Then you should tell her why all those things happened."

"I– okay– Ned." I face him with a reddening face. "I _cannot_ tell her that I'm Spiderman. You know that. The fewer the number of people who know, the better. I want to tell her some kind of excuse for why I did all of those things, but I don't lie very well and there is no other explanation other than Spiderman. I wouldn't be surprised if Liz doesn't even want to– ."

"Peter? Ned?"

I whip around. Liz is standing there, a small smile on her face.

"Oh, uhhh…" I clear my throat and distance myself from Ned. "How-how long you have been standing there?"

"I just came out." A bit tentatively at first, Liz makes her way over to us, her hands folded in front of her. "Wow, I… It's been a while. How are you two?"

We both give soft answers. That seems to satisfy her and she goes on.

"I wanted to come to New York to visit again and I thought I would visit the school today to see some friends."

"Yeah! Yeah… That makes sense." I wet my lips, trying to think of something to say. "How's Oregon? Do-do you like it?"

"It's nice there. It took a while for me to settle into the new house, but I'm managing. Everything's going pretty well, actually. We're living in the capital, Salem, now. Thanks for asking, Peter."

Ned nudges me in the side. Understanding his unspoken cue, I take a few steps toward Liz, my sweaty hands fidgeting with my shirt. "U-um, Liz, I– ." My words catch in my throat and I clear it with a shaky cough.

She waits, her own hands wringing together at waist level.

"Liz, I-I just wanna say that I…I'm sorry." I force myself to meet her gaze. "Y'know, with everything that I put you through last year– ."

"Peter."

I blink twice, startled.

"I forgive you."

My eyebrows shoot up. "You-you do?"

Liz nods. "Through this last year, I've been thinking a lot about what I've been through. I know you did a lot of crappy things in school and to me, but I also like your awkwardness and how you stutter every time you talk to me. I like a lot of things about you. So, as much as I sometimes want to, I don't hate you. There's still a part of you that I really like, I just hope that whatever was so glaringly in the way of your life last year is cleared up now." She smoothes a strand of hair and folds it behind her ear. "Now, whenever I think of my dad, or-or DC…I just can't stop thinking about how grateful I am."

I cock my head to one side. "Grateful?"

"To Spiderman."

I stop a smile before it shows on my face.

"He saved us in DC. He revealed the crimes of my father. He stopped that ATM robbery and fought off those guys single-handedly. He just saves people with no thought of himself. I-I get shivers when I think of it. I just wish I could meet him someday and express my gratitude and admiration fully."

I shift on my feet, once again lost for words. Liz has no idea who Spiderman is, and yet he's standing right in front of her.

 _This is getting awkward._

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

The silence is broken by the frantic buzzing of my phone from my backpack. My face burning, I shuffle through the contents and yank it out. Aunt May.

"Oh, I-I gotta go, Liz. Aunt May will be wondering where I am."

"Yeah, of course."

I stare after her as she skips away. "Wow."

Ned smirks at me. "You still like her?"

Choosing not to answer, I continue down the hallway, my face sizzling with heat. Within a few minutes we're boarding the bus and heading home.

I don't wait to knock as I stride up the steps to my house and bust inside. "May?"

"Peter?"

"I'm home."

She greets me at the door. "What took you so long?"

"I was only a few minutes late. Liz was there. She was visiting from Oregon."

May doesn't respond but raises her eyebrows.

"Anyway, Ned's coming over tonight to build some new Lego sets that he bought recently."

"Got it. I'll make dinner for three."

"Thanks." I stop on the way to my room. "I'm gonna go hang out in the city, 'kay?"

"All right, kiddo. Stay safe!"

"I will!" I swerve into my room, strip down into my Spider suit, and pop the mask on.

"Welcome back, Peter."

I grin as the familiar voice bounces in my head. Prying open the window, I breathe deep of the fresh air and activate my web shooters.

"Okay, Karen. What crimes can we stop today?"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** So...what's going on? What– or who– was over by that window? Lots of surprises in this chapter, hence the title. :D Read and review!


	4. Chapter Three - Breathe Through It

I had a bit of writer's block regarding the...how must I say it...ENEMY of sorts in this chapter, but I pulled through and here's another chapter!

This chapter is not as long as the last two, but I'm still very very proud of it to say the least. There's a lot of Tony-Peter father-son moments in this chapter, which I was looking forward to.

I'll get straight to the chapter without much blurb prior to the writing, so let's begin! Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Three - Breathe Through It

I always forget how refreshing it is to swing on my first web of the day. Gliding and twirling through the air, latching onto web after web and running on rooftops. When I'd first gotten my powers, I hadn't really known my way around Queens. From years of experience swinging through alleys and streets, I'd memorized the entire city. Now, instead of asking for directions to a location, I help other people find their target. Every night I stop robberies. I catch thieves. I deal with problems that need fixing.

But now, I have a different air about me. At least once sometimes through an afternoon of Spiderman, I can't help thinking back to Vulture. It's hard to picture myself fighting like that again.

 _Ah, whatever. No use dwelling on it now. I've got locals to save!_

Hours feel like minutes skipping by and before I know it, the sun is about a half-an-hour away from the horizon. I crawl to the top of a building and flip onto the roof, snatching my phone from my backpack where I'd hidden it behind a group of trashcans. I scroll through a few contact options before landing on one and switching to an automatic voicemail.

"Hey, Happy. I'm just reporting for today. There were a bunch of people who didn't seem like they knew where they were going so I gave them directions. A band of thieves were trying to make out with a few boxes of stuff, so I stopped 'em before they even knew it who it was. Other than that, I just hung around, said hi to a few people from a distance, and fixed some things. That's it. Peter Parker, signing out."

I end the call and toss the phone into my pack. Without a word, I refill my web shooters and run through the list of accomplishments from today.

"You've done well, Peter."

"Thanks, Karen." I take a seat at the end of the building, gazing out over the city. "I should probably go home. I don't want to keep Ned waiting if he's there yet. I'm not far from my house, so– ."

"Detecting two individuals in the alley nearest to you."

"Huh?" I crouch down and creep to edge of the building. Karen's right. Two men wearing hoods over their faces are huddled together under a dying lamppost. "Well, like that's not suspicious." Sliding down the side of the building, I maneuver around a few windows and drop to the ground, finding coverage behind a trash bin. "Karen, let me hear what they're saying."

The voices slither into my mask.

"Help me out. I've been at this for a year, give me some leeway."

"You have the genetic files. Isn't that enough? Kidnapping ain't something I'm getting my hands into. This ledger is dry of blood, and I'd like to keep it that way. It'll get me into more trouble than I'm asking for. I'm not doin' it."

"Come on, Digg. I'll pay you. You're the only one who's helped." The hooded face crinkles into a hopeful sneer.

"How much will you give me?"

"Five hundred thousand dollars." Arms fly open to indicate the huge amount.

"Sorry. Ain't happening. Find someone else." Digg backs away.

The other man crushes his hands around his throat, pushing him against the alley wall.

I grit my teeth, heart rate surging as the pinned adult lets out a strangled cry.

Kneeing him in the stomach and tightening his grip, the attacker shoves himself inches from his victim's face. "Tell me, Digg! Tell me you'll do it!"

Digg's words fumble a bit before croaking out of a blocked throat. "All right."

The scarred hands relent. Digg crumples to the ground, coughing and choking.

"Get up." The male's voice grates like steel and he rams his foot into Digg's side. "You'll do it?"

Still on the ground, the victim nods, his breathing ragged. "On one condition."

"I'm done with your crap. You do it, or I'll strangle you with my own hands. I have enough crime under my belt that murdering a little here and there doesn't bother me."

"Toomes– ."

"Shut up!" He jabs his boot into Digg's chest and a crack pierces the evening air, followed by a weakened grunt.

My heart misses a beat. _Toomes. I– No. It can't be._

Digg manages to speak through his groaning. "Toomes, listen… If you do what I want…I'll join you on…on whatever other plans you have…"

"You'll work with me forever if I answer to your condition?"

"Yes."

"Reasonable. Spit it out."

"I want a million. Five hundred thousand's cheap."

"I can't do that."

"Then you can beat me up all you want, but I'm not helping you."

Silence echoes.

Eventually, Toomes growls. "Fine. Job first, money later."

"Pay me first, then I'll catch the kid."

"I don't care how you get him. I don't even care if you have to knock him out to bring him to me. I just wanna be the one to put a bullet through his head."

The knot in my stomach tightens. _He's talking about me._

"Your heart rate has increased rapidly."

"I know, Karen." Breathing heavily, I back myself against the wall, gripping the cobblestone bricks with sweaty hands. The scratchy voices lapse into the background behind the massive drumming of my pulse. _Toomes. Adrian Toomes. Vulture. He's talking about me. He's still after me. He wants to kill me. I have to leave._ I make an attempt to rise, but my shivering limbs bring me back down. Numb, clammy fingers grope for something to hold onto as the shadows swim through my vision. Slamming my eyes shut to block out the dizziness, I wrap my arms around myself, fighting the throbbing pain that thunders through my chest with every heartbeat. _I have to escape. I have to hide. I have to escape._

I can't feel my body anymore. I'm losing control. Everything's shaking, pounding, roaring through my conscious.

 _I can't move. I can't breathe. I can't feel. Someone, anyone, please._

A muted voice breaks through to my brain, slowing the input of fatal images.

"Peter, I'm here. It's okay. Breathe. Breathe…"

In the back of my mind, gentle hands brush my sides. I flinch away, curling tighter inward as Vulture flashes in my mind's eye.

"Shh… Calm down, Pete. You're safe. You're safe. Breathe." Fingers scramble near my neck and pull something off my head. My mask.

This time when the hands touch my tight shoulders, I cling to them like lifelines. The steady flow of dangerous scenes poisoning my thoughts fade and retreat to a minimum. My senses lethargically reopen.

"Peter?" One of the hands lifts my chin and Mr. Stark's face appears before my own, his eyebrows drawn close together and his face pale. "That's it. You're breathing easier now."

"Mr. Stark…?" My voice is tiny and high-pitched to my ears.

He nods, moving his hands from my shoulders to my face, using one to smooth a damp strand of my hair. "You all right, Underoos?"

"What…what happened?"

"You had a panic attack, and it was a pretty bad one from what Karen was telling me."

"Karen?"

"She contacted me as soon as you were having symptoms and I got here as quick as I could."

I spot the Iron Man suit a few yards behind him, shadowed by the building.

Wait.

The building. The alley. The men. Toomes.

My muscles jerk to life and I seize Mr. Stark's wrists with a cry, my eyes so wide that they hurt.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Peter!"

"Where-where're those two men?"

Mr. Stark stares at me. "What two men? There was no one here when I found you."

"There were men out here earlier and they looked like were talking about some kind of deal but one of them was the Vulture guy who was giving the other guy money to hunt me down and capture me– ."

"Hang on– slow down!" Mr. Stark applies soft force to my shoulders, forcing me to relax and sit still. "Speak slowly, clearly, and think. I'm here. You're safe. You said there were two men here earlier?"

"Yeah. One of them was the Vulture guy."

Mr. Stark's hands tense up. "Toomes?"

The name draws a shiver out of me and I start to bend into myself again. "Y-yeah. They were arguing. Toomes wanted the other guy, I think his name was Digg, to do something for him, but Digg wanted more money than Toomes was willing to give. The Vulture guy kicked him and almost strangled him in order to make Digg do what he wanted."

My mentor sets his hard gaze on me, rubbing my back in a soothing motion. "And…what was it Toomes wanted Digg to do?"

My voice shakes as the next words leave my mouth. "To hunt me down and bring me to him."

Mr. Stark freezes. His dilating eyes flicker along my face, almost begging me to say I'm joking.

My eyes water. "Vulture still wants to kill me."

Jerking himself from his trance, Mr. Stark grips me. "I'll protect you."

"But if he gets the suit, then he'll be able to hack it and it won't be the same and my house doesn't have any safety mechanisms so he could sneak in a kidnap me at anytime so I'm really not safe anywhere anymore– ."

"Peter!"

I stop short and lock eyes with Mr. Stark, tears tumbling down my face and my breathing frantic again. We stare in silence at each other for a few seconds before I throw away all sense of humility and crush my arms around him, barely holding back a torrent.

When Mr. Stark wraps his own arms around my quivering body in a hesitant embrace, I finally break down, melting into tears in my mentor's hold.

Minutes pass.

Eventually, my tears begin to subside and my breathing slows.

More minutes run by.

Mr. Stark tilts his head and glances at me, my head on his shoulder.

"You okay?"

I nod sluggishly and pull away from him, rubbing my eyes and slumping against the wall of the alley.

"I'd better get you home. It's eight o' clock."

I moan, massaging my temples with my pointer fingers. "Eight? Crap… Ned was going to come over at seven."

"Well, you're going to have to tell him to come back tomorrow. You need a good, uninterrupted night's sleep. With your panic attack and your breakdown, your body doesn't have all that much energy left to run on. You've drained yourself, mentally, physically, and emotionally."

I clutch the edge of the trash bin and hoist myself to my feet, but a sudden dizziness drains me of what little strength my attack has left me with and my legs buckle.

Mr. Stark catches me and lifts me in his arms. "Steady, Pete. I got you."

I'm fighting to keep my eyelids from drooping shut. "Don't…don't carry me… I can walk…"

"Walking yourself or sleeping. Choose one."

I gotta say, sleep sounds tempting. "But…but Aunt May's gonna see me…in my suit… What're you gonna say?"

"Don't worry, kid. I'll make something up." Mr. Stark strokes my hair, lending me a quick grin. "Get some sleep, Spidey. Right now, there's nothing more important than that."

Then my eyes flutter closed and a peaceful darkness overtakes me.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Awwwww Peter and Tony! I _have_ got many more surprises up my sleeve for future chapters though, so stayed tuned for those. :D

Read and review!


	5. Chapter Four - Spider Exposed

HERE'S THE FOURTH CHAPTER! I've been so so so excited to post this. :D A lot of awesome things happen in this chapter. They were awesome to write, but they might not be that awesome to read... Mwahaha!

A little hint to something in this chapter: I've got some Tony and Peter moments again. I saw Iron Man for first time last night and it was AMAZING! So good! :)

I'll stop talking and get to the chapter, but I hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Four - Spider Exposed

I awaken in my own bed with fluffy blankets up my chin and warm, spring air blowing in from an open window. Blinking my bleary eyes open, I focus on the ceiling and stretch luxuriously, groaning in pleasure as I spare a glance at my calendar. _Today's a Saturday!_ I drag my head to side. _And my room's clean. No Legos? I thought Ned and I hung out yesterday._

 _Yesterday. Was that yesterday? I know he slept over. No. That was two days ago. I was at school and saw Liz. After that I did the Stark internship…_ Thinking back to last night, I seem to be able to recall a dark voice, the Iron Man suit, and being carried.

 _Wait a second._

I jolt to a sitting position. _Last night! Toomes! Mr. Stark!_ Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I run my memory through the entire scene. _A panic attack. That's what Mr. Stark had said it was. It was so scary…_ Glancing through my room, I pinpoint my backpack beside my door, but my suit is nowhere to be found. _Huh. Weird. Could Mr. Stark have taken it to do some tests? He's done that before, but he's always told me. Maybe he sent me a text._ I check my phone. No texts, however, there're three missed calls from Aunt May and one from Ned dating back to last night. A sigh escapes my chest. _May must've been so worried. She always freaks out when I'm late to anything._ Standing, I scratch a hand through my hair. _I wonder how Mr. Stark worked around the problem of me being Spiderman to Aunt May. I didn't think anything like what happened last night would actually happen, so…I didn't bring any other clothes in my backpack. I usually just sneak into my room. Mr. Stark carried me home and there was no way he could've snuck me in unless Aunt May was–_ That's when I see the post-it note on my door.

 _"_ _Take a shower, get in some real clothes, and meet me downstairs. We've got something very important to talk about."_

A pit forms in my stomach and my mouth immediately goes dry. _Oh no._

I shower in minutes, throw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and creep down the steps. Stopping on the way down, I swallow hard when I catch footsteps in the kitchen. My shoulders rise and fall as I take a deep breath, my hand wiping off the sweat that had formed on my brow. _Okay, I got this. Keep calm._

I walk into the kitchen as quietly as I can to find May with her back to me, leaning against the counter with her face in her hands.

She lifts her head to reveal red, puffy eyes that glaze over with a cold fire as I come in. "Sit. Now."

"But can't I have breakf– ?"

"Peter." The name hisses through gritted teeth. "Sit. Down."

Every hair is standing on end as I stumble into a seat.

May hurries around the kitchen, fetching a glass of water and a stack of papers on the counter before joining me at the table.

Neither of us speaks.

I can't bear to look her in the eye. Icy flames smolder in her brown gaze.

When May finally does talk, her voice is unsteady. "How long have you been hiding this from me?"

"Um…since Mr. Stark recruited me. I-I've…uh…I've– I've…"

"What?"

"I've had the powers for longer than that– ."

"Powers? What powers?" Aunt May leans forward, narrowing her eyes at me.

"En-enhanced healing… Super strength… Agility and speed… Reflexes… Stuff like that."

"How did you get them?"

"I-I was bitten by a spider a few years ago. It's dead now, don't worry."

One minute of silence.

May slaps the first piece of paper from the stack in front of me. It's a printed picture of Spiderman in action. "So that's you?"

The lump in my throat is so large that I can't form words. Instead, I nod, tears burning behind my eyes.

Second page. Spiderman swinging on a web with Queens in the background. "That?"

Another nod. Another page.

There are dozens of the images, some just of simple shots, some of Spiderman actually taking down thieves and robbers. A few are from the ATM robbery and DC.

Next, May grabs her computer from nearby and searches a few videos on YouTube. Once more, the ATM robbery and DC with a few additional clips of Spiderman saving the day.

"That's all you?" May sounds tearful now.

The nod comes again.

My aunt pushes herself against the back of the chair, pressing her hands against her temples and closing her eyes. A few tears squeeze out from beneath her eyelids.

The clock on the wall becomes the only noise.

Tick, tock.

Soon, May's quiet sobs enter into the air.

I hug my knees to my chest, burying my face in my hands. _I'm sorry, May. I really, really am…_

Tick, tock.

 _May hardly ever cries. She probably didn't get_ any _sleep last night and now she's crying right in front of me and it's my fault._

Tick, tock.

 _What is she going to do to me?_

Tick, tock.

As the time passes, May stops crying. We continue to sit across from each other, neither uttering a single word. Eventually, I raise my head from my hands and summon the courage to talk.

"How did you…find out?"

May wipes her eyes and takes a sip of her water, clearly trying to stay calm. "When Tony showed up at my door last night, carrying you, my first thought was that you'd gotten hurt out there in the city. But the moment I saw the suit, everything clicked. You were able to convince me last year that it was a _Halloween costume_ of all things, and I was stupid enough to believe it. Tony didn't even have to explain what happened last night. But now, I know the truth." Her hands tighten around her cup, turning her fingers white. "So this is what you do when you say you're going out into the city, this is why you didn't show up through the entire day when that boat accident occurred last year, this is why I never see you for long after school, this is why you sneak out, this is why you constantly left school, this is why you have nightmares, this is why you had that panic attack last night, I just– I– Peter, you– I-I can't– ."

The glass shatters in May's hand, flinging shards in every direction.

I flinch with a small gasp.

The water spills out onto the table and May doesn't even seem to care that the papers and her computer are getting soaked.

Breathing hard, I peer over at May.

Her eyes are dark and cold and tiny drops of blood are dribbling down her neck, face, and hands from the flying shards of glass. Her entire body is shivering violently and tears are streaming down her cheeks.

My own face stinging, I reach toward her. "M-May?"

"I am your guardian, Peter. I'm supposed to protect you. I'm supposed to be a good parent. When your Uncle Ben passed away, I lost of a part of myself and…and it never came back. You're the only one keeping my other half in tact. I couldn't bear to lose you too, Peter, not after Ben. I love you too much for you to leave."

"May– ."

"Remember that night? At the Thai restaurant? Last year? The news was on that night. It was talking about the ATM robbery. I told you to run away from things like that, and now I find out that you're the one rushing up and battling them single-handily?" May slams her other fist down on the table, making me jump. "That's not fine, Peter. None of this is. You think can just…just stroll up to some people who could murder you, fight them off easily, and walk away like nothing ever happened?"

"But I _can_ though– ."

May shoots upward, knocking her chair over. "No, Peter! You can't. I _cannot_ have you swinging around Queens like– like some _war hero_ , fighting in battles that could result in you getting killed! You are not capable of that!"

I stand at once, matching her glare with my own. "May, yes, I am!" My face is burning and my fists clench at my sides. "I can _show_ you how capable I am– ."

"No!" May rams her foot on the ground, her voice rising in volume and pitch. "Peter, no! You will not have another _day_ in that cursed suit! I won't allow it!"

Taken aback, I step away from her. "You're-you're taking my suit?"

"No more Spiderman." Her words are seething with venom. "Just. Peter. Understand?"

"N-no, I don't understand. How to you expect me to give up on a life I've lived for the past two years? I can't do that!"

"Yes. You can. Peter, don't argue with me. I'm taking the suit and your web shooters and that's final."

"You can't just separate Peter and Spiderman! They're the same person! Spiderman is part of me!"

"Peter, do you understand that, now, every night if you're out of the house, I'm going to fear for your life? What if a police officer comes to my house one evening saying you've died? What if Tony shows up at my door at midnight? I wouldn't be able to stand life without you, Peter."

"You can't lock me up, take the keys, and expect me not to fight back! I'm sixteen and independent– ."

"What you call being independent is going out there and putting yourself in danger!"

"But I've saved thousands of lives as Spiderman– ."

"I don't care! There are people who handle this sort of thing. And guess what? They're called the Avengers. And you're. Not. One of them. So stop acting like the entire city of Queens is depending on you and _only_ you to stop crime. It's my job to protect you!"

A red flash blinds me. "You're not my mom!"

Silence. Aunt May stumbles away from me, her breathing loud and ragged and her eyes pooling with tears.

I don't even pay attention to the hurt sparkling in her gaze. Built-up energy is roaring through my body, pulsing through the veins in my hands and making my teeth grind against each other. I flex my sweaty fingers, willing myself not to lose control.

"You're right." May's voice cracks. "I'm not," she backs away a few more feet, "but up until now, I thought I was good substitute."

 _I'm losing control. I'm losing control. I can't hold it back._

Without another word, I whirl around and pelt through the house and into my room. I pound the door shut, turn on my heel, and slam my fists into the wall.

I stand there for a moment, feeling the throb of my hands as I pull them away. When I raise my head however, my eyebrows rocket upward. With my super strength, my fists should've gone straight through the wall, but they've barely made a mark aside from chipping off a few patches of paint. I turn my aching hands over a few times. _What?_ As a test, I grab an old bat from my closet and punch the middle. Nothing. No mark. Despite my red knuckles, I try breaking a few other objects, but the same result occurs.

 _What's going on?_

A zap in my nerves turns me around. Hard footfalls rumble in my head and past my door. _Aunt May. That was my spider sense. Good. Whatever's going wrong with my strength isn't affecting everything else._

I slog over to my bed and collapse onto it, squeezing the blanket with my fists.

 _"_ _No more Spiderman."_

 _"_ _What if a police officer comes to my house one evening saying you've died? What if Tony shows up at my door at midnight?"_

 _"_ _You will not have another_ day _in that cursed suit!"_

 _"_ _What you call being independent is going out there and putting yourself in danger!"_

I blink away tears. _Aunt May really meant it. She really took my suit away. I don't even have my web shooters anymore. No more Karen, no more crime-stopping, no more Stark internship, no more…Spiderman. No more Spiderman._ A rush of heat flares across my face. I snatch my pillow and hurl it across the room. Rushing to my phone, I locate the contact and jam the device to my ear.

At the third ring, the voice answers. "He– ?"

"Mr. Stark, why'd you have to tell Aunt May?"

"Peter?"

"Why did you do it?"

"Peter, I– ."

"Tell me!"

A few seconds of quiet. "What happened?"

"She took my suit and my web shooters. Spiderman's gone."

"I'm– ."

"Why did you tell her, Mr. Stark? Why?"

"Peter, since May wasn't sleeping when I got to your house last night, there was absolutely no way to get you inside without May seeing you. The other options would've risked getting her more worried because you would've been home a lot later. Don't blow up on me, kid. This was no one's fault."

I flop down on the floor, tears slipping from my eyes. "I-I know… I'm so…so mad at everything and…I'm sad at the same time. May and I had a big fight and I said things I shouldn't have. I want to apologize, but every time I think of her, I think of everything that she said and I just…"

 _"_ _I couldn't bear to lose you too, Peter, not after Ben."_

"…can't believe it's happened."

"I know, Pete. I'm sorry. I truly am."

"How-how do you think I'm going to get the suit the back? I can't just stop being Spiderman. It'll drive me crazy not being able to help people like usually would."

"Give it time, kid. Give it time. May's probably as emotionally stressed as you are. I know you're upset, but think about her side of the argument as well. Think about the things she said and then try to find the _why_ behind them. If you can understand her feelings, it'll be easier to make up with her after a fight like that."

"But you know what she's like. Aunt May remembers everything. She's never going to forget what I said to her. She'll never forgive me or stop worrying. She doesn't think I'm capable enough to be Spiderman."

"She doesn't want to believe it. And she will forgive you, Peter. Like I said, give it time. Give _her_ time. Talking to other people about this helps. I made you tell me about your nightmare, right? Why not talk to Ned about your argument? It'll get some of the emotions off of your chest."

"Okay…"

I'm about to hang up when he stops me.

"Pete, listen."

"What?"

"Remember when _I_ took your suit?"

"How can I forget something like that?"

"Exactly."

"Huh?"

"That's exactly the point. You're always going to remember when I took your suit. You're always going to remember what it felt like. But you forgive me now, right? You know why I did it. You may have been mad at me, but it was the actions you chose afterward that helped you move through those emotions and settle into life again. I was the same way. I felt betrayed when you lied to me. When I found out about the hacked suit and the ferry, I was furious. But then I thought about why you had done it. The more I pondered your point of view, the more I understood. I just needed to wait until you proved yourself responsible enough to handle Spiderman again.

"You can do the same thing with your aunt. You're never going to forget this argument, her words, or your feelings. But if you do the same thing you did to cope with last year's situation, then you'll pull through in the present. Just…try to be Peter. Get used to school. Make some new friends. Do other activities after school instead of Spiderman. After you've been patient, do some tests and try to find out how wounded your relationship is with May. Slowly, by staying away from dangerous choices and spending more time with her and not Spiderman, your connection will bloom again. Wait. Give it time."

"When did you get so wise?"

Mr. Stark chuckles. "Trust me, kid. I know what I'm talking about."

"Thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Yep. Think about what I said, okay? I'll see you later."

Instead of responding, I ogle wide-eyed at my left hand. Veins are popping out on the back of it and running up part of my arm, pumping angrily with every beat of my heart.

"Peter?"

"Uh… Earlier, I was angry and I punched my wall. I know I have super strength, but my hands barely made a dent."

"Hmm. Strange. Anything else weird like that?"

"No. Just that."

"Well, keep me updated. I gotta go, kid, but I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Wait, what's happening tomorrow?"

"I'm taking you to dinner. I already told Aunt May and I arranged this a few weeks ago."

"But aren't you upstate?"

"Nope. I came to Queens a week ago."

"Aunt May probably won't let me go. I'll bet she won't let me leave the house anymore."

"Did she say you're grounded?"

"Not exactly, but– ."

"Good. You're not grounded. See you tomorrow at dinner, Pete."

"Yeah."

The static from the phone cuts off. Without even thinking, I shift to Ned's text contact. _Well, I might as well do something with today rather than obsess over the argument. I've got the entire Saturday._

The rest of the day flows by in altered speeds. I manage to get all the glass off my face with tweezers and Aunt May does the same. Ned visits and May tries to appear like nothing happened for his sake, but every time she looks at me, the same fire awakens in her eyes again.

Dinner comes and goes. Usually, May and I chat, but this time, it's a silent meal for both of us. As soon as I'm done, I slip my dishes in the sink and head upstairs, grasping the railing. A headache thrashes in my skull, one that had been growing with every hour. I'd taken a few Ibuprofen, however, my efforts had proven fruitless. Without saying goodnight to May, I retire to my room and try to tidy up a little, but the pain from my migraine spreads down my neck and into my arms, weakening the muscles. By eight o' clock, everything hurts. I'm shivering with cold as I change out of my sweaty clothes into pajamas and wriggle into bed, my mouth dry and my head pounding. I don't even retrieve my pillow from the end of the room before I'm swept into a dizzy sleep.

* * *

It's a quarter past midnight when another nightmare yanks me from my restless slumber.

Trembling, I grope in the moonlit darkness for my blankets and wrap them around me, seeking refuge from the chills. Breathing hard, I twist my head to side. _The window's not open. Why am I so cold?_ My hands curl the covers tighter around my aching body. I groan as the pain in my head increases. _I gotta get another Ibuprofen…_ Forcing myself off of the bed, I clutch my nightstand as the world sways in my vision and a fierce dizziness splits everything in two.

I stagger to the door, shaking hands turning the knob. With nothing to hold onto, I pitch forward and collapse against the wall of the hallway, sliding to the floor.

The drumming of my heart closes off all other noises as the agony in my head makes my ears ring. Every breath is quick and short as I crawl a few feet toward the stairs only to crumple to the ground. _I can't…I can't get up… So cold…_ I moan again as the back of my neck ripples with pain.

A door opens somewhere nearby and a voice cries my name. A dark figure rushes to my side.

"Peter! What happened?"

Freezing hands rest on my cheeks and forehead.

"Oh my gosh, Peter, you're burning up."

 _Aunt May. She's…not mad?_ I attempt to talk, but all that comes out is a whimper.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

That's the last thing I hear before a dark dream takes me and I sink into a fevered sleep.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Oooooh, what's happening to him?!

Read and review!


	6. Chapter Five - Breaking Glass

I'm back! Sorry for the delay. :D Writer's block has been BRUTAL... But I think my mind has finally sped up again and I'm back to a normal writing schedule! :) This chapter is a bit shorter than other ones, but I wanted to end with a specific cliffhanger. And I _promise_ that after this chapter, I'll stop cruelly torturing Peter, at least for the time being. :)

As for my Marvel fanatic updates, I saw Thor and The Avengers in the last two days and they were amazing! I got _so much Loki_ recently! Yes! I don't care if he's a villain, he's still awesome in my eyes. Now I'm going to work on watching all of the movies leading up to Avengers: Age of Ultron. I want to be fully up to date with all of Avengers before Avengers 4 next year!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Five - Breaking Glass

I drift into awareness painfully and discern a wet rag pressed against my forehead. Pans clink from nearby and bare feet drag along wood floors.

A voice that I don't even recognize as my own rasps out of a scratchy throat. "May…?"

"Peter?" May appears at my side, peeling the washcloth off my skin. Her fingers brush my forehead and she bites her lip. "You're still hot."

My vision still fuzzy, I blink a few times to focus and notice the familiar setting of my living room. I'm on the couch swaddled in furry blankets. Waves of heat pulse from my body and I stick my foot out of the blankets only to yank it back in again when a bout of shivers attacks me. "Am…am I sick?"

"You've got a high fever. I've been trying to bring it down, but nothing's really helping. If it gets worse, I'm going to have to take you to the hospital." May withdraws and plops onto a stool beside the couch.

I move my head to the side to see her better, wincing as the back of my neck burns. Observing her with glazed eyes, memories dart through my head.

 _"_ _There are people who handle this sort of thing. And guess what? They're called the Avengers. And you're. Not. One of them."_

 _"_ _I told you to run away from things like that, and now I find out that you're the one rushing up and battling them single-handily?"_

I wet my lips. "You aren't…mad at me? About what happened?"

My aunt's eyes shadow and she averts her eyes. It takes a few seconds for her to answer. "One day is not going to clear the effects of that argument. I'm still mad. Furious, actually. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to take care of you. In fact, our fight made that impulse stronger." After replacing the rag, Aunt May seats herself on the stool again and makes no move to rise. We stay in the same positions for a few minutes, enduring the awkward silence.

"Y'know… May… You don't have to stay here forev– ."

"Nope. I'm staying right here. Every minute, every hour. Anything you need, I'll get it."

I examine her stiff posture and unsteady gaze. Another sting of memory hits me.

 _"_ _You're not my mom!"_

"May, you're…you're trying to prove yourself."

She turns to me. "Do you want anything? Some water? An Ibuprofen? Wanna watch a movie?"

"Stop ignoring me." I try to sit up, but a painful swirl of dizziness drives a cry from my chest and May pushes me back onto the pillows again.

"Shhh… Rest. Is there anything you want?"

I frown at her, but her persistent look forces me to respond. "I-I could go with another Ibuprofen. My head really hurts."

"Sure." May strides out of my sight and a few seconds later, she groans. "Peter, there're no more left. I'm gonna have to…go get some more at the grocery store." She walks back into my view. "Do you…um…" Biting her lip, she kneels by my side. "Do you think you'll be okay until I get back?"

"May, I'll be fine." I offer a light grin. "You don't have to obsess over me."

"I'll call Ned's mother and see if she can bring Ned over. I don't want you to be alone." Her voice chokes on the last word, but she scurries back out of my vision before I can assess the situation further. A few minutes later, I get a small kiss, a goodbye, and the door shutting with a quiet click.

Sighing, I turn over, grimacing at the pain thrumming through my whole body. _Where did this sickness come from? I was fine yesterday until my headache, and then everything went downhill from there. It's confusing._ A sudden thirst for water scratches at my throat and I decide to heed its call. In one, fluid movement, I swing my legs over the side of the couch and shoot to my feet, enduring the pain and staggering to the counter where a glass of water is already prepared for me.

I lean against the island counter, attempting to merge the dividing object.

Three cups. Two. Three. Four. Two. One.

My shaking hand grips the glass and tips the liquid into my mouth.

When I put it down, the dizziness relaunches itself, twice as strong as before.

Six cups. Seven. Eight.

My head reeling, I inch along the counter, so lightheaded that I can't even see one foot in front of me. One more step and I slump to the floor, breathing heavily.

Eyes fluttering shut, I lay there, the nape of my neck roaring with agony. With every beat of my heart, my fingers twitch. Usually I would be able to hear noises in other rooms, but instead, a thunderous ringing thumps in my skull.

After what feels like an eternity, a pair of hands grab my shoulders and a voice breaks the ringing.

"Peter!"

"N…Ned…"

"Are you okay?"

One of his hands makes contact with nape of my neck and I recoil as a searing discomfort blooms through my muscles.

"What-what do you want me to do?"

"Just…just get me…to the couch…"

There's a bit of shuffling around, but eventually, Ned guides me safely to the couch and takes up a spot beside me.

"You with me, man?"

I moan in answer.

"Do you want me to sweep up the glass?"

I open my eyes. "The-the glass?"

"There was cup that fell by the counter. You didn't know? You hear everything."

Shrugging, I bring the blankets up to my chin. "I can barely even hear you." Regardless of my nonchalant answer, a worm of unease weighs in my stomach. Ned's right. I can hear exceptionally well due to the spider bite, and alongside that, all of my other senses are multiplied.

But now, it's like they've been shut down.

Running my fingers along the couch, I wince as both of my hands sting.

"Uh…Peter?"

"What…?"

"Do…do you hear that?"

For the first time, I realize his voice is shaking. Forcing my eyes to cooperate, I glance at Ned, whose face is pale. "What's going on?" I sit up, slamming my teeth against a whimper as the room spins.

"Listen."

"I told you, I can barely even hear you let alone– ."

"Listen!"

I shut up.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

A scrabbling, tapping sound resonates off of the walls of the house. Muffled voices creep beyond the fog of my mind.

"Can you…can you hear what they're saying?" I bring myself shakily to my feet.

Ned cross-examines me, his eyebrows pressing close together. "Dude, you should _not_ be standing. Sit down."

"I need to…figure out what's going on…"

"You look like you're about to pass out– Sit down!"

Unable to stay upright any longer, I drop to the floor, panting and clawing for something to hold onto. Ned is at my side at once, pulling me to a wall for me to lean against.

The tingling in my muscles is so intense that I can't feel Ned's hands on me.

"Since when were you this sick?"

"This isn't just the fever…" I close my eyes to stop the room from spinning. "Something else is wrong… My senses are going crazy…"

Glass breaks from nearby and Ned screams.

Through the pounding of my pulse and the ringing in my ears, I can't bring myself to open my eyes even though Ned's yelling my name.

"Well, what do we have here? Poor Spider's been caught in his own web…"

I tear my eyes open to find four men dressed in black around the living room, broken window glass crunching under thick boots and loaded guns in their hands. The one who had spoken is closest to us with a face that's haunting familiar.

Digg.

I forget about my fever under the chill of his grim smile and shrink further against the wall when he steps forward, pointing his gun at me.

Ned grunts an inaudible word and pushes in front of me, his arms spread wide.

"Step aside, kid." Digg jerks his head to the side, shifting his aim to Ned. "I won't hesitate to put a bullet through your head."

The other men crowd around us, weapons at the ready.

All I can see are the guns and Digg's face. _They're gonna kill Ned. They're gonna kill Ned and take me. Then Vulture is gonna kill me. Stark. Mr. Stark. I've gotta call him. He needs to know._ "N-Ned."

He grips my wrist.

 _I have to tell him to call Mr. Stark. In a way that Digg won't understand. What should I say? What should I say?_ "I-Iron. Alert. Underoos."

Ned pauses for a minute as Digg turns his gun back to me.

"Don't try anything, Spider-boy."

I shiver, blinking to focus my swerving gaze.

Ned bolts out of the room, his footsteps ramming on the staircase.

Two of the men holler to each other, racing to follow him.

Digg shoves the barrel of the gun to my forehead. "We can kill your friend. And I can kill you. Just with the flick of a trigger."

A cold pit in my stomach prevents any words from escaping. _Come on. You're Spiderman. You can fight these guys off. You can save Ned._ The gun follows me as I stand.

"We know you're sick, Spider-boy. That's why we came. You're no match for us."

My breath catches in my throat as Ned's muffled shriek and the slamming of a door come from upstairs.

Digg chuckles. "One down."

A surge of red flashes in my mind and I lash out, barreling into Digg and knocking him to the ground. I wriggle off of him and punch the remaining grunt in the chest, who doubles over.

Digg leaps to his feet, kicking me in the stomach and hitting me against the wall. I lunge to the side to avoid him, but the side of a gun strikes my temple and I stumble back with a cry. I barely have time to react before Digg pins me against the wall, yellow teeth in a crooked smile. "I'm doing this for money, Spider-boy. Don't make this any harder."

My adrenaline is fading by now. The chills and weakness from my fever catch up with me and the world starts to sway. "L…Let go…"

Digg's hand curls around my throat.

The immediate build-up of pressure stops the breath in my lungs and I begin to panic when I realize I can't breathe.

"I'm bringing you to Toomes and that's final. I'll get my money's worth outta this kidnapping. One more move, and– ."

Something crashes through the front door and dust chokes the room. Red and yellow metal flickers in the rubble.

Digg sputters a curse and scrabbles away from me, gun aimed. I collapse to the floor, coughing.

" _Peter!_ "

Energy explodes into my limbs. I dive into the room to my right, but Digg pursues me, gun raised. Glancing back, I catch a glimpse of his face, twisted, dark, and wide-eyed.

 _Click._

Pressure traps left shoulder and everything goes numb. I freeze, peering down. Blood pours down my arm. Pain. Burning, ripping pain. With every feverish heartbeat, the blood streaks my arm red.

A solid object collides with my head as I'm staggering backward.

Red. White. Blurry. I'm falling, fading.

White.

Then nothing.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I know, I know, this is the third chapter in a row where it ends with Peter falling asleep, but this is different. He's _passing out_ this time, not JUST falling asleep. He's not going to be in too good of a shape in the next chapter, but after everything's cleared up, things will get better. I _promise_. :D

Hope you enjoyed! Read and review!


	7. Chapter Six - DNA Depleted

Well, this has taken a long time to come out! Sorry about that, haha! Ever since I saw Thor: The Dark World, which was a week or so ago, I've been loving Loki so much. He rocketed up in my MCU character ranking and is now tied with Peter. Wow! I never thought a character could even get close to Peter.

ANYWAY, it was fun writing worried Tony in this chapter. :) I thought I did pretty well. A quick note for the future of this book, after this chapter, I'll be taking a break from writing it for a little while because I need to flesh out the story and plot a little more or else I'm going to get writer's block every chapter. I've already got some ideas, but not enough to keep going. I'm also still so invested in Loki stuff right now. :)

Without further ado, enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Six - DNA Depleted

My fingers slither restlessly through my hair as I stare at the motionless boy on the bed, every thought locked on him.

On Peter.

I said I would protect him. I said I would keep him safe.

Only to sit back and believe that nothing would happen.

I tear my glasses off and throw them to the ground, burying my face in my hands.

A break in. Why now? Why Peter?

"Jarvis, where's Bruce?"

"He's entering the building now, sir."

A few seconds slog past.

Hands land on my back and a soft voice whispers at my ear. "He'll be all right, Tony. Bruce will fix it."

"Nothing's certain, Pep. I should have been there."

"It's not your fault– ."

"It is!" I whip around, knocking Pepper's hands away. Her startled eyes meet mine. "I told Peter that I would protect him! You should have been there when he broke down, Pepper. He was so scared… I ignored him and ended up breaking a promise– ."

Bruce bursts into the room, throwing his bags to the side. "Tell me everything."

"There was a break in at Peter's house. I flew there too late. Peter was shot. There was so much bleeding that I had to cauterize the wound before I took him to Headquarters. He was unresponsive when I got him here and that was a few hours ago."

Bruce races to Peter's side, checking his pulse. "It's too slow."

My stomach ties itself into knots.

"He's gone into hypovolemic shock."

Forcing the words past the lump in my throat, I address my AI. "Jarvis, how much blood did he lose?"

"Peter has sustained a gunshot injury that pierced the left subclavian artery. He lost twenty percent of his blood before cauterization."

A wave of nausea overcomes me and I grip the bedpost as the room spins.

Pepper grasps my shoulders, steadying me.

Bruce bites his lip, wiping sweat from his forehead as he examines Peter. "You cauterized the wound and that stopped the bleeding, but that's put Peter in high risk of serious infection. He's also got some bruises on his face and neck and a gash on the back of his head."

My heart skips a beat and I snap to attention. "Th-those should've healed by now. Peter has enhanced healing."

"From that spider bite?" Bruce glances at me through dark eyebrows.

I nod shakily.

"They're not healed. Nothing is. Not even the minor cuts."

The blood drains from my face and my voice rises to a roar. "Why aren't they healing? Bruce, what's going on?"

"Tony, I don't know!" Bruce throws his arms up in the air, glaring at me.

"Well, you should! You're a doctor!"

"I have– ."

Jarvis interrupts. "Sir, I've detected heat coming from a blister-like inflammation on the back of Peter's neck."

Bruce mutters an exclamation and pries Peter's head off the pillow with care to inspect the damage. I'm at his side at once and my eyes widen at the sight.

A ring of white surrounds a black circle of decaying flesh wrapped in pulsing, purple veins. Spots of dried blood dot the wound.

Bruce hisses a muffled curse.

I wring my hands behind my back. "Jarvis, tell us more."

"My data suggests that Peter has had this wound since Friday."

 _It's Sunday. That's...three days._ "More."

"The puncture seems to have a striking similarity to that of a multitude of spider bites."

Silence. My heart thumps faster and faster with every second that passes. "Bruce. Bruce, get a blood sample."

"What?"

"Right now."

The minutes go by in a blur as Bruce extracts a bit of blood from Peter's arm.

"Connect it to the computer."

The doctor complies.

"Jarvis, project a DNA hologram on the wall."

The blue image extends to the far wall and the winding DNA strands appear, rotating.

Not a single bar of spider DNA.

"Where is it?" I rip myself from Pepper's hold and run to the computer, restarting the hologram display.

The same image. No spider DNA.

Frantic now, I grab the tiny canister, scrutinizing the blood. "Where is it?" My bellow bounces off the walls. "Where's the spider DNA?"

"There's no sign of any abnormal DNA traces, sir– ."

" _That is not abnormal for Peter!_ "

"Tony!" Pepper pulls me away and pushes me against the bed, laying me against the pillows. "Shhh…"

"He's not going to get better without his enchanted healing. He's– ."

Bruce stomps his foot. "Tony!"

My neck jerks to the side.

"I promise I'll do everything that I can. The bruises will heal. You stopped the bleeding already– ."

"By burning the wound shut! I caused Peter so much pain– ."

"Listen to me! You stopped the bleeding. _You_ did. If you didn't, he would probably be dead already. The wound will probably get infected, but I can deal with that. Infections don't always lead to to death, Tony. In fact, I'll make sure it doesn't. Listen to me very carefully. Peter. Will. Recover."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

I'm not exactly sure what to make of everything when I wake up.

First, it's a gentle nudge toward awakening. The more I move in the direction of the light, the more reality sets in. I'm cold. Then hot. Then cold again. Everything aches, but my left shoulder ripples with an unrivaled agony.

I'm too close to the light now. It doesn't matter how much I want to, I can't fall back into darkness.

I struggle to the light a little longer, but I'm barely able to move my left arm.

A bed. That's what I'm lying on. Blankets drape over most of my body and the cold hits the revealed skin, draining a shiver from me. A second later the covers are lifted higher.

Finally, I pull my eyes open.

Blurriness. Blinking, then focusing. A ceiling.

"Peter." A figure leans over me.

A small grin lifts my cheeks. "Hey, Mr. Stark…"

"Hey, kiddo." He returns with a fake smile which drops quickly back down again.

I twist my head to the side, scanning the room. "Where…"

"You're at Avengers Headquarters, Pete. In your own room. Pretty neat, huh? How's that for interning with Tony Stark?"

My gaze trails back to Mr. Stark. "Why…why am I here?"

Mr. Stark averts his eyes, sighing. "I'll ask you this, kid. What do you remember?"

"I-I don't…" I try to trace my mind back, but nothing's coming. "I don't even remember what happened to get me here…"

"I'll give you a hint: Digg."

 _Dig? Digging a hole? What does that have to do with anything? Maybe I fell down a hole and broke my shoulder or something._

 _Dig. Dig?_

 _Hold on. Dig. Not digging a hole, but…_

 _The one who had that connection with Vulture._

 _Vulture. The panic attack. The argument with May. My sickness._

 _Digg. Guns. Break in._

I jerk upward with a gasp, however, break off with a cry of pain when my shoulder flares up.

"Hey! Lie down! You're hurt, Peter…"

I squeeze an answer through gritted teeth as I lower myself onto the pillows again. "You think?"

"So you remember now?"

"Digg broke in. He– ."

"I know what happened, Peter."

"Ned. Where's Ned? Is he okay?"

"He's fine. And so is your aunt. They're downstairs and visited you a few hours ago. Ned was the one who called me."

"You saved us."

Mr. Stark's eyes darken. "Peter, you…you were shot."

I stare at him for a few seconds. _What?_ That's when I put the pieces together and I drop my chin to my shoulder.

"No, don't look. I was too late to stop Digg from shooting you. The bullet hit an artery and if I hadn't cauterized it shut, you would've bled out. It's gotten infected, but Bruce is working on it." His voice trembles and he refuses to make eye contact.

"It's not your fault, Mr. Stark."

"Everyone's been saying that."

"But that's not everything, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"There's something you're not telling me."

Mr. Stark purses his lips. "Peter, what happened at school?"

"What?"

"On Friday. What happened?"

"Uh… It was just…school. Nothing– ."

"Peter, something happened!" Mr. Stark curls his hands into fists. "Something hit you on the back of the neck– ."

"How do you…know about that?"

"Jarvis found some sort of wound on your neck and Bruce took a blood sample. And you know what we found out? All of that spider DNA that's in you, Peter, is _gone._ Your enhanced healing, your increased metabolism, your reflexes, everything's gone."

I read his gaze for a moment longer before cocking my head. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Listen. Can you hear what's going on downstairs?"

I close my eyes and focus on the noises around me. A dull ring reverberates in my ears, but all I can pick up is the humming of the AC. "I can't hear anything but the air conditioner." Peering back up at Mr. Stark, I furrow my brow. "I used to be able…to hear things in other rooms, but…"

Mr. Stark sighs. "Do you understand the enormity of what's happened?"

"I…uh…I can't hear as well as I used to?" I bite my tongue against the pain in my shoulder.

"Peter, your powers are gone. It's not only your senses that have switched to normal, but you won't be able to sense things coming around you without seeing it. You won't heal fast. You can't climb walls. Your powers are gone. Spiderman is gone."

The more I replay the words in my head, the wider my eyes grow.

 _"_ _Your powers are gone. Spiderman is gone."_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Oooooh, dun dun dun! Spiderman's gone... How's he gonna get the DNA back?

Read and review!


	8. Chapter Seven - Love and Memory

Okay, okay, I know I said I'd be taking a break from writing this to flesh out the story, but a few days ago, I just really wanted to write and I went with the only "filler-chapter" idea I had and this is what it turned out to be. I actually really really enjoyed writing this chapter. This is one of the more positive ones of the last few. I've got a moment between Pepper and Tony, a ton of references, conversations between awesome characters, and an anticipating cliffhanger!

I will say though, my ideas DO stop here for filler chapters (chapters that are in-between the disasters), so after this chapter, I _really will_ be taking a break. BUT, any day, I could wake up with a great idea, so another chapter could pop up anytime! Haha!

I'm really proud of the dialogue in this chapter, as I think it reflects what that character is feeling. I've got some more worried Tony in this chapter, I've got a love moment between Tony and Pepper to break the stream of dismal occurrences, I've got worried May, I've got conversations about Vulture, AAAAHHHH!

Okay, I'll shut up now. :)

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Seven - Love and Memory

I shut the door behind me, barking to Jarvis to brighten the lights. Sitting across from Pepper on the couches surrounding a circular coffee table, I grip her hand and stare out of the large window across the room.

Stars shine down from the dark sky outside Avengers Headquarters. The moon blinks balefully, beaming through the glass in dangerous shafts.

"Tony, it's been two weeks. Peter's healing fine."

"That doesn't change the fact that Peter can't defend himself as well as he used to because his spider DNA is gone."

"And can you change that right now? No. So stop obsessing over it."

"I should be able to."

Pepper squeezes my hand. "Stop saying that. You can't fix everything, and you know it."

I rip my hand from her grasp. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"I'm just trying to help you see reality. You've been nothing but a worried mess since the break in. You haven't even let Peter leave his room."

"And it's for a good cause. He'll be unstable without his powers. He'll have to adapt, and I've got to make sure that he's completely healed before he takes even one step out of that door."

"He's not helpless without his powers!"

"He's less capable."

"No, you don't think he can protect himself at all without them! What kind of father is that?"

I clench my fists. "I'm not his father."

"But you want to be. Try to make sense out of what I'm telling you!"

"What if we think everything's fine and he goes to live with his aunt again? He can't protect himself without having Spiderman. His suit's gone, his powers are gone– ."

Pepper smacks the arm of the couch. "Shut up, and listen to me!"

I slump in my seat, rubbing my temples with a sweaty hand. My muscles shake.

"Tony, please look at me."

I raise my head.

"Answer this question as best you can: what makes Peter Spiderman?"

Surprised by the inquiry, I stay silent, unsure of what to say.

"Is it his spider senses? His super strength? His ability to shoot webs and climb on walls? Is he only Spiderman when he puts on that suit? Think about the Avengers. I know you don't like talking about him anymore, but think of Steve for a minute."

My stomach twists and I'm promptly reminded of the forgotten flip phone on the table. "You promised you wouldn't mention him anymore."

"Just listen to me, will you?"

I growl under my breath.

"What makes Steve Captain America? Is it the serum in his body? Is it his strength? No. It's none of those. It's who he is, not what he can do that gives him the title of Captain America."

I grind my teeth as the memory flows in.

 _"_ _I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself, and I'm sorry."_

"Do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Pep."

"Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

" _Yes_ , I understand. And thank you."

"Would you answer the question? What makes Peter Spiderman?"

"Ah, it's too late for those kinds of deep questions. Save it for tomorrow."

Pepper laughs. "Always putting things off."

"I suppose the best course of action would be to wait until Peter's healed."

"And what then?"

"Why do you think we're having a meeting in…?" I glance around for a clock, then wave my arm to the side. "Jarvis, time."

"It is seven fifty-nine PM, sir."

"There. In one minute." I rise from the couch and, when Pepper does the same, we're no more than a few feet apart.

Another memory.

 _"_ _You guys look like two seals fighting over a grape."_

Pepper observes me, taking a step closer. "You promise not to panic?"

"My, that's a strong word, Pep. I don't panic."

"Fine." Her mouth twitches. One more step. "You worry exceedingly."

"That's better."

Our eyes meet.

Pepper slides her arms around my shoulders, leaning closer. "You know, you worry a lot."

"That's what you're here for, right, Pep?" I brush her cheek, meeting her gentle smile with my own. "Jarvis, dim the lights."

Pepper giggles. "You're making this an awfully romantic moment, Tony."

"I'll give you twelve percent of the moment."

"I'm taking more than that."

I bridge the gap between us, our hearts pounding in unison as our lips connect. Fiery passion explodes between us, flowing through our veins and deepening as we wrap our arms tighter around each other.

A door opens.

Pepper and I spring apart.

Bruce stands in the doorway off to the right, his startled look darting between the two of us. He lifts a finger. "Were you two… Am I…interrupting…something?"

I clear my throat. "Good lord, Bruce, you're here. Great. Wonderful. Uh…come on in. Take a seat. You're– perfect timing."

The doctor creeps in, shuffling his hands in his jean pockets. "Are you sure you don't want me to– ?"

"Jarvis, lights up." I plop down on the couch beside Pepper as the room brightens again.

We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, waiting for the others. At last, Ned and May join us around the table.

I nod my head. "All right. You know why we're here. Bruce, how's Peter doing?"

"He's healing slowly, but it's going well. The infection's still there, but it's getting less intense every day."

"Still fevers and swelling?"

"Occasionally. But each time is better than the last."

"Still no sign of the spider DNA?"

Bruce shakes his head, frowning. "His DNA is as normal as ever."

My muscles tense and I shift in my seat.

"What's going to happen to him?" May bites her lip, "after he's healed?"

"One thing's for sure: he can't live in his house right now. It's not safe." I spare a look at Bruce. "Even after he's healed, since he doesn't have his powers, he wouldn't be able to fight people off if they tried to take him again."

Ned sighs, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Is it true that Peter's being hunted?"

I inhale in an effort to calm myself. "Yep. Vulture's back, and he wants revenge. He's paying someone named Digg to capture Peter so Toomes can kill him. From what I've heard, he's not letting much stop him. Last year, he didn't do anything rash until Peter showed up, and even then, he tried to avoid large crowds. But now, it seems his revenge is shoving all of that out the window. We don't know what he'll try next."

"So he'll be staying here?" May taps her foot on the floor. "How do I know you'll protect him? How do I know he'll be safe here?"

"May, I promise I'll do everything– ."

"You didn't protect him from getting shot! How can I go home and have complete confidence that I won't wake up the next day with a phone call telling me he's been shot again?"

"May– ."

"How do I know you won't pull him into another one of your retreats?" May's red face radiates with a glower. "I took his suit away, but how do I know you won't just build another one, you with your _genius mind_ and all?"

"May– !"

"When all of this is cleared up, I'm taking him _away_ from your internship. It's because of it that he's gotten hurt. It's a good thing his powers are gone. With his powers _and_ suit taken away from him, he's got no choice but to be Peter again."

I grip Pepper's arm as a roar erupts from my chest. "It's not his powers that make him Spiderman!"

May stops. "What?"

"Peter and Spiderman are the same person. You can take his suit away, his powers can leave him, but that doesn't push Spiderman out of his life. Peter is compassionate and cares about others. When he's fighting thugs, he uses his webs as much as possible so he doesn't kill them. Even Vulture. He saved Toomes from the fire so he didn't die. He's willing to disobey and to go behind others' backs in order to do what he believes in. Even without his powers or his suit, if he sees someone in trouble, he'll not have a second thought about rushing up to help them. _That's_ what makes him Spiderman."

May opens her mouth to say something, but gives up and collapses into the chair again. "So what are we going to do? How do we stop this…Vulture?"

Bruce moistens his lips. "You said that Adrian was paying Digg to catch Peter, right? That means he's not trying to do it by himself. He's smart enough not to cause commotion for himself, but paying others so much that _they_ do the messy crimes and get put on the news. He's hiring people, Tony. That means he's serious about this. If he gets in contact with any of that alien tech again, or opens a wormhole, or gets the Tesseract, he could summon dozens of creatures to help him. We don't know how far he'll go. We need to be ready for anything."

"Well, what do you propose?" I entwine my fingers with Pepper's.

Bruce averts his eyes.

"Bruce…?"

"I really don't think– ."

"Do you have an idea?"

"Yes, but– ."

"Stop with the hesitating or I'll trap you in one my suits for a day. Spit it out."

"What if you…you know…" he reaches for an object on the table and tosses it to me, "get 'em together again?"

I drop my gaze to the item in my hands and a rush of electricity causes my eyebrows to skyrocket.

The old flip phone.

Steve's voice rings in my head.

 _"_ _So, no matter what, I promise you, if you need us. If you need me. I'll be there."_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

 ***Cue Avengers Theme***

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	9. Chapter Eight - Captain and Soldier

I saw Captain America: The Winter Soldier a few days ago and Bucky is now super high in my MCU character ranking! I was so inspired by Steve and Bucky's friendship that I began writing the next chapter right away.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Eight - Captain and Soldier

It's an hour past dawn when I awaken from a gentle dream. I stretch with a sigh of pleasure and swing my legs over the side of the bed. At first, I'm struggling to recall where I am, but the shield wrapped in red, white, and blue stripes brings me back.

Brooklyn, New York.

Even after a year of living in peace in my hometown, it still slips my mind every once and a while.

I pull a blue sweater over my nightshirt and pair it with some khakis before strolling through the hallways and into the kitchen. The bare, wood floors gleam with raw sunshine and a stiff wind curls in from an open window. _Could this day get any better?_ Birdsong diffuses into the room as I pop on my sneakers and grab a pen and post-it note, speaking aloud as the ink scribbles out the words.

"Going…for…a…morning…jog…as…always. Steve."

I slap the note on the door, grunting in satisfaction. Buck will know where I've gone, but just in case.

I'm out the door in seconds. It doesn't take me long to find my normal route and soon, the ground is a blur beneath me.

My mind sinks into thought. One year. Already one full year living here. It's hard to believe that before we made peace with the government, many of us were in prison. When given the freedom, most of us had pushed aside our superhero life and made the promising decision of living normally. Or trying to. I pause at a bench to retie my shoe. Bucky had nearly refused my offer of living together, the memories of his mind control still rampant, but eventually, he had given in. For once, we can finally live together the way we would have after World War II if circumstances had been different. My jaws tremble and clench together. But HYDRA had to stomp in, ripping friends and families away from each other. But…if HYDRA hadn't existed, I'd still be scrawny and short, fighting, but failing, to get into the army. The serum injection is one beneficial thing that's come out of HYDRA's emergence, I suppose.

Even so–

"On your left."

Startled from my thoughts, I stumble before recognizing Bucky jogging up beside me. "Bucky! What are you doing out here?"

"I thought I'd join you. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all." I slow down a bit to match his strides and lend him a smile.

"You really don't have to put a note every time you leave for a run."

"I do it anyway. It's polite."

Bucky snickers. "So like you, Steve."

We jog in silence for a few quarters of a mile before I press on with the burning question. "How'd you sleep last night, Buck?"

He flexes the fingers on his metal arm. "Okay."

My mood darkens. "Any nightmares?"

Bucky shrugs. "Off and on. It's fine, really."

An icy jolt runs through me. "No, it's not. You shouldn't– ."

"Are we really going to have this conversation again, Steve?" My friend's eyes flicker under the waves of dark hair. "I can't get rid of them. I've tried, probably too many times. So let's drop it and leave it there. No use talking about it."

A sigh rolls out of me. Even though it's hard to accept, Bucky's right. Even I have nightmares sometimes. It's the part that no one tells you about. The price of a hero's actions and the chronic symptom of a victim.

We push our legs faster and race home.

Both of us are panting when we reach the house. Rushing in, I slam the door behind me and high-five Bucky. "You're faster than you look, Buck."

"I was surprised I could compete with you at all. You weren't going easy on me, were you?"

"Have I ever?" I mop my forehead with a hand towel.

"A few times."

"Well, it's not too unbelievable that you can run as fast as I can. I'm not the only super soldier here." I pass the towel to Bucky.

"A super soldier? Me?"

I wave the statement away, anxious about hitting a nerve and setting off a memory in my friend. "You could compete with me any day."

"I don't know about that. You can do some pretty impressive things, Steve."

"I know something we haven't done yet."

Bucky narrows his eyes. "What?"

Breathing deep, I rest my elbow on the table, hand outstretched. "An arm wrestle."

He flexes his hands. "Challenge accepted." The metal fingers curl around mine and we close our fists, locking eyes. Sweating, hurting, and tired from our race, we sit across from each other, focus swirling in our gazes.

I wet my lips. "Five. Four."

A playful smile dances on Bucky's face. "Three. Two."

Our voices blend for the last number.

"One."

My face quickly turns red with effort as our grips tighten, pushing against each other's arms with passionate force. Bucky's metal arm clicks and rotates with a whirring sound, moving my own arm to his side. One more inch, and I know it's hopeless. My hand slams onto the table.

Bucky leaps to his feet, pumping his fists with a giant grin. "Yes!"

Chuckling, I lean back in my seat. "That's one fight I can't win." I point to the bathroom. "You can take the shower first."

Thirty minutes later, we're finishing our breakfasts together at the table, clean and prepared for the day.

"So, Buck– ."

The blaring of my phone on the counter makes us jump. I tip my head, getting up to answer it. I don't recognize the ringtone, and that lack of knowledge discourages me from picking it up, but when I see the name on the screen, my heart speeds up and my mouth goes dry.

 _Tony Stark._

My gaze drifts over to Bucky as memories flash in my head.

 _"_ _It wasn't him, Tony, HYDRA had control of his mind!"_

 _Lights. Yelling at Bucky to run. Slamming my shield into Tony's reactor._

 _"_ _This isn't gonna change what happened."_

 _Wild eyes._

 _"_ _I don't care."_

A hand breaks the flow of memories. I shake myself to meet Bucky's concerned gaze.

"Steve?"

I flip the phone open and mash the green button. "Steve Rogers."

At the other end of the line, a breath crackles on the phone line and a series of mutters come through. "I can't believe I'm doing this– Steve?"

"That's me."

"Hey. Yes. I…uh…I know it's been a while, but…I need you at Avengers Headquarters."

A twinge of excitement jumps in my stomach, however, it's immediately replaced with hesitance. "You're calling the band back together?"

"I– yes. I've encountered a problem. There's a villain on the loose that could potentially grow into a large threat and we don't know what he'll try next. I want– Gods, why am I doing this…?"

"You're doing fine, Tony."

Bucky tenses beside me and his eyes bulge. "Tony…? Tony Stark?"

I lower the phone from my ear, reaching out to him. "Buck– ."

"That's him? On the phone?"

I purse my lips. "Yes."

Tony's voice barks from the speaker into the room. "Hey! Hello? Don't leave me in the dust. Will you come or not? I want to get this over with."

Bucky stumbles back at the sound of his voice, trembling.

"Yes, yes. I'll be there, Tony. When?" I drop to a whisper. "Buck, calm down."

"Try to get here in the next few days. All right. I'm out."

The static cuts off and I close the phone with a snap. "Buck…" Approaching my friend's shaking form, I rest my hands on his shoulders, staring deep into his dilating eyes. "What's wrong?"

"We're going to see him?"

"He…he needs us."

"He needs _you_. He doesn't want me."

"But _I_ need you. I'm not leaving you here alone."

"I can't face him, Steve." Bucky's panting now, his eyes darting around. "I can't face him. Not after…after…"

In an instant, I know what memories attack him. "Buck, that's in the past. It's water under the bridge. It was a misunderstanding. You don't have to think of him like that anymore."

"You don't understand, Steve… Every time I have a nightmare about that fight, Tony's always there, screaming at me. When I wake up, I can't stop thinking about what I did, about everybody I killed." I lead Bucky over to the couch where he collapses, gripping his head.

Tears burn in my eyes at the sight. "It's all right, Bucky, HYDRA's gone. You'll never be in anyone's control ever again. I promise you. I won't let anyone do that to you. Not even Tony."

"HYDRA's not gone. Those people, those actions, they're alive in my head. The things they made me do… It's like they programmed the memories into my head so no matter how much I try to get them out, they always come back to torture me…" Bucky sucks in a gasp.

My heart bleeds as I listen to his words and I do the only thing that comes to mind to comfort my childhood friend. Without a word, I crush my arms around him in a heartfelt embrace.

Bucky freezes with a gasp.

After a few seconds, he exhales with a long, shaky breath and returns the gesture.

I pull away sluggishly, watching Bucky's face. "You with me?"

He nods, fixing his eyes on the floor. "I just…" his voice cracks with emotion, "I just don't want to go through anything like that again. I'll admit it. I've been running away from my memories instead of trying to clear them up. Now, whenever they come back, it's harder and harder to fight them. I don't…" Buck lifts his head. "I don't want to forget again, Steve. Please."

I offer him an encouraging grin and pat his hand. "We'll work through this together, Buck. Don't worry. You're not alone. I have a hard time with memories and panic attacks too."

Bucky tilts his head to the side. "Y-you do?"

"Yeah. I don't tell many people about them, but it's the hard part about being a hero."

My friend sighs. "I'm no hero."

"You're _my_ hero." Grabbing his arm, I lift him to his feet. "You're the best friend anyone could ask for. I'm never giving up on you, Buck."

A shy smile creeps along Bucky's face. Then, with a quaking hand, he salutes.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I love their friendship so much! Bucky is such a broken character (much like Loki in that way) and that makes me love him all the more. :) For clarification, I am _NOT_ shipping Cap and Buck, I just want to highlight their friendship.

Read and review!


	10. Chapter Nine - No Time To Love

This chapter is on the shorter side, but there wasn't much that I needed to make clear.

BUT. You may notice something really different. I changed this Spiderman Fanfiction to an Avengers fanfiction with a new title and a new summary. I've been thinking about this decision for a while now. The reason why is kind of complicated. When I first started this fanfic, I really only knew who Peter was. Now, two months later, I'm three movies away from finishing the MCU and I have multiple other characters fighting for the number one spot in my character ranking. I love so many other characters now. I've been really wanting to bring everybody I love into my book and I didn't want to _just_ focus on Peter anymore.

Now I have the freedom to explore all of the Avengers' journeys and not just Peter's.

That's all!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Nine - No Time To Love

An arrow thwacks into the bullseye as a sleek midnight-blue Corvette crunches into the farmstead's driveway. The exhaust sends hay and dust into clouds behind the vehicle.

A particular redhead fiddles with the keys and steps out of the car. She wears smooth, black heels and a yellow summer dress spotted with cartoonish slices of cake. White tights line her otherwise bare legs. A wallet dangles from her hands, in which she shoves the keys.

I saunter toward her with the recurve bow still in my hands. "You look surprisingly normal for a trained SHIELD assassin. I could even say…pretty."

Nat squints at me. "It's nice to see you too, Barton."

"'Clint' would suffice, thank you. Don't have to revert to SHIELD's social standards."

She nods to the training setup behind me. "You've been busy."

"Practice."

"Which you don't need. You're gonna wear out that bullseye and the arrows will just go right through it."

"That's the plan, Tasha." I smirk and fit my hands in my pockets. "Anyway, what're you doin' here? Just dropping by to say hello, or you got something else on your mind?"

"Actually, I'm here because Tony asked _me_ to ask _you_ something."

"Sounds like a big task. Especially from the man himself."

Natasha shrugs. "Ah, it's not too bad. I get to see a friend."

"What's the question?"

"It's actually a request."

My spine tightens, prompting a stiff posture. "Okay?"

"He's been contacting all of the Avengers today. Calling you was one thing that he didn't have to do."

"So what are you saying?"

"He wants you back at the compound."

My eyebrows skyrocket. "A mission? Trouble?"

"Nothing yet."

A huge sigh deflates my body and I cross my arms. "So he's calling us all together on a suspicion, nothing more?"

"That's what it would seem like, yes."

I avert my gaze to my feet. "Tasha, you know I can't. I didn't retire only to be roped into every battle."

"But the Civil War– ."

"That was different. I felt both responsible for Wanda and that I was the only one that could've helped her out. And that ended up being true. Plus, Cap truly needed me. But…from what you're describing, nothing's even happened yet. Tony's just paranoid."

"I suppose."

"I'm sorry, Nat. But 'no' is my final answer."

She plucks a piece of hay off my shoulder. "I know. I didn't expect anything else."

"Natasha?" Laura's voice sounds from the porch.

The redhead glances behind me and waves.

I twist my neck to spot Laura strolling across the lawn to meet us, two-year-old Nathaniel toddling along beside her.

"You visiting for a couple days?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Nope, I was passing on a message. I'm sorry I can't stay."

Laura pushes the apology away. "Ah, it's no problem. I'm used to Clint coming and going, and you're the same most of the time. It's good to see you." She turns to me and plants her fists on her hips, judging me from under lowered eyebrows.

My face floods red and I raise my arms. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What are you doing out here? I thought you said you were gonna help Lila with math."

"Okay, for one, she said she'd figured it out by herself, so good for her. For two, I'm hopeless at math anyway. You know that."

"Then how to you calculate all those perfect shots?"

"I, uh… Okay, what's your point? I was only practicing."

"And you don't need to practice!"

Natasha nudges me with a chuckle.

"Anyway, I'm going to show Nathaniel the tractor. He wants to see it."

I give Nathaniel a grin and wiggle my fingers at him. This results in a gummy smile from my son. "Fine with me, babe. Just make sure he doesn't break it. He's been grabbing onto everything lately."

Laura scoffs and steps closer to us. "Yeah, tell me about it. I won't have any hair left by the time it starts streaking grey. Anyway, you probably have to get going, Natasha, but it was great to see you. Really."

Natasha closes the gap between them and squeezes her friend in an embrace. "It's always nice to see a sister."

Laura says her goodbyes and leads a squealing Nathaniel to the farm.

"Well," Nat snags my attention again, "it seems your love life is flourishing." She winks and pokes me in the chest.

"What about you? How's your relationship going?"

Natasha's smile fades. "I'm not in one. Not anymore."

My brow furrows and I clasp her shoulders, my voice soft. "What? Why not? You and Bruce– ."

"Messed up. We messed up badly."

"Natasha– ."

"Leave it. It was for the best."

I grab her wrist as she pulls away. "Wait."

"Clint, I really– ."

"What happened?"

She bites her lip. "We had an argument. It got out of hand. Bruce lost control. The other guy took over, and almost hurt me. When I calmed him with a lullaby, Bruce couldn't believe what he'd nearly done. A week later, he initiated the breakup."

"Nat, I'm so sorry."

"It was bound to happen eventually. Couldn't avoid it."

"You're sure you don't wanna stay here for a couple of nights? We'd be happy to have you."

"As always, I appreciate the offer, but I'm sure. Tony wants me at Avengers Headquarters."

"Ah. Of course."

"So I'll see you around?"

I dip my head. "Be careful, Natasha."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine. And thanks." The spy takes her leave after a quick hug and zooms off in her car.

Maneuvering back into the house, I meet Cooper on the way upstairs, his face blotched with tear stains. He ducks his head as we cross paths and I take his shoulder. "Hey, Coop! You all right?"

"Um…yeah." He avoids facing me. "I'm going to get something to eat. How long until dinner?"

"Cooper, come on… What's wrong?"

My oldest son pushes my hand away and descends a couple more steps. "Nothing, dad! I'm fine."

"No, you're– !"

"Dad!" Cooper whirls around with a glare so intense that a spark sets off in my nerves. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Silence.

I give up and pull away, a word exiting so soft that even I don't hear it. "Okay."

Cooper tears up and retreats to the kitchen.

Unable to escape the gnawing maggots of worry infecting my stomach, I flee to my room to tidy up. Within twenty minutes, the clothes are hung up and the books stacked on the shelves. A knock on the door causes me to pause halfway through making the bed.

"Clint? You in here?"

"Yeah. Come on in."

Laura slips into the room.

"You talk with Cooper?"

"Cooper? What about him?"

"He seemed upset."

"About what?"

"He didn't tell me." I fling the blankets over the pillows. "He ran off into the kitchen after yelling at me."

Laura absorbs the information and departs to confront him.

A few hours pass. The sun's dropping by the time I finish mowing and I retire to the bathroom, tossing my sweaty clothes in the hamper. A long exhale spills from my mouth as I step into the shower. Hot spray cascades down my shoulders and steam rises around my skin. The glass fogs. I fold my fingers behind my head, taking the time to feel my own body. My pulse is slow on my neck and my biceps ripple against my forearms. The moisture and drowsy heat sink heavy on my senses and I let my eyelids slip shut. The water streaks down my arched back, each droplet following the curve of my shoulder blades and meeting at my spine. My dirty-blond stubble scratches at my elbows, not yet damp. Releasing another lengthy breath, I inch backward and allow the waterfall to drench my hair and face. I give a satisfied hum. Drugged by the heat of the shower, it takes me a solid couple minutes to wake myself out of the trance and begin washing myself.

One plop of salon-scented shampoo to my hair and the mandatory mission has begun.

My op: get clean.

I massage the soapy foam into my scalp. _So… Tony's reassembling the Avengers. Why? HYDRA's gone, Ultron's gone, the Civil War's over… What could be so dire that Earth's Mightiest Heroes would need to, again, unite? And why would they need_ me? _I retired from the team a long time ago. They've been doing fine without me. Sure, I shoot arrows, maybe blow up a few things, but that's all. My skills don't even come close to, say, Thor's. They don't need me._

I exit the bathroom with a nightshirt on.

Laura lowers her book from her reclined position on the bed. "Hey, you."

"Hi. You seen my shorts?"

"On the chair by the nightstand."

"Thanks."

Laura's tight-knit eyebrows and clenched hands don't go unnoticed as I fit into my stretchy pair of shorts.

"You okay, honey?"

She drops the book in her lap. "Cooper's so stressed."

My jaw clenches. Cooper. "School?"

"Yeah. It's been so hard for him. Nothing's clicking. He's so behind. He wants to be caught up and understand everything so badly, but…he isn't getting anything."

I click on a lamp. "You think he needs a tutor? It really helped me."

"Maybe." Laura kicks her legs over the side of the bed and moves to the corner of the room. She runs her shaking hand over the wood of her nightstand. "It hurts to see his pain. As a mother, as a father…"

"As parents." I circle the bed and clasp her hands in mine. "We'll get through this. We've gotten through _so_ much worse, Laura. Trust me."

She leans against the wall. "But what if he doesn't succeed? What if– ?"

"Shh…" I run my thumbs in calming circles on her skin. "It's okay. Don't worry. There's always a tomorrow. Let's sleep on it and figure something out in the morning. Okay?"

Laura tilts her eyes up to meet mine and presses her palms on my chest. "Yes, sir."

All of the other sights and sounds disappear around me as I observe my wife. Simple rhinestone earrings, slightly knotted hair, dark circles… Even a hint of remaining makeup that she'd probably forgotten to wipe off.

The tiniest smile plays on my face. "You're so pretty, babe."

She cocks her head. "Oh, you're getting all sentimental on me now? You're so tired, you're adorable."

Our look lingers for a few seconds more before Laura's attention darts to my mouth for so brief a moment that I question whether I'd seen it or not.

An urge swells in my chest, so hot it's like heartburn.

I charge forward and slam my lips against hers. Fireworks explode inside me and my soul opens up as I feel her reciprocate. My entire body fills with warmth and my heartbeat surges. Her lips, her taste, the hunger behind her kiss all entwine to create a rainbow of emotions. I feel as if I'm flying, soaring high and free in the softness of her affection. Drawing from her breath, her pulse, her life, I pin her against the wall and pull away for the shortest moment only to dive back in with ravenous lust and passion. Hands scramble at my cheeks and the scent of perfume and toothpaste floods my senses. Her fingernails bite at my jawline as my lips explore hers– countless times over.

I don't want anything else. Just us. Just Laura and I. Together. In this moment. As one.

Forevermore.

When we finally tear away from each other, we're both gulping for breath.

Blinking hard, I stare downward and check my pulse with shaking hands.

Fast.

In the next exhale, a laugh bursts from my chest. "Yeah, you can still make my heart race…!"

Laura's face glows, whether from the rosy blush or the physical intensity of the session, I can't be sure. Her eyes sing as they scan my face.

I drop my chin with a chuckle. "You-you can still make me feel things, Laura."

My wife giggles and strokes my neck. "Come on out on the porch. I want to ask you something."

I twitch my ears as she dodges my arms. "Wait, what?"

Not a minute later, we snuggle together on the outside couch and watch as the stars come out one by one. Then the bats. Then the clouds.

Laura begins the conversation with a question. "What did Nat want?"

"She, uh… Tony's getting the Avengers back together again."

"What did you say?"

"I said no, of course."

"They must be in a pretty bad situation to need a retired Avenger."

"I was thinking that too."

"What do you think's the problem?"

"I can't place it. All the threats from the past are gone. It must be something new."

"If it's something new, then they might need you more than you think."

"Are you saying I should go?"

"I'm just asking for you to truly consider your decision instead of brushing it off like it's nothing. They may really need you."

"The answer is no! I retired for a reason, and that reason still stands. I'm not leaving you with the kids to fend for yourselves."

Laura hums a response.

"Anyway…" I shift my position and motion for her to lay her feet across my lap. "We've got an anniversary to plan. This next one's a special one."

Laura twinkles in the moonlight. "I can hardly wait."

My attention flicks to the bow and arrows still lying beside the tree.

 _"Which you don't need. You're gonna wear out that bullseye and the arrows will just go right through it."_

"Hey, honey, can I ask you a weird question?"

"Oh, this has gotta be good."

"Have you ever seen me miss?"

Laura erupts into laughter.

"What?"

She wipes tears from her cheeks. "Yeah, I have. Once."

"And…when was that?"

She gapes at me. "You don't remember?"

My legs tingle. "Um…no?"

"Well, figures you don't remember, actually. The bar? When you got cocky with those Hawkeye fans a couple years back?"

A wave of red crashes my face. "No, not that story! Please, don't tell it, Laura. Please?"

"It's hilarious. It was supposed to be a _date._ Then those middle-aged fans showed up and asked you to shoot some bullseyes on the dartboard. And you, Mr. Hotshot, decided that it would be a good idea to play a _drinking game._ I clearly remember you slapping your fist on the counter and declaring," Laura lowers her voice to imitate me, "'take a shot every time I get a bullseye. No stopping until I miss, which I won't.'"

I groan. "Stop, please…"

"It's funny!"

"It hurts!"

"Your pride, maybe."

"I'm so glad Natasha doesn't know about that."

Laura wiggles her eyebrows at me.

"No. _You told her?_ "

"We were having some girl talk about stupid things men do."

"Wow, thanks."

"The whole group was crazy when you finally missed the center. You were so loopy that night that I had to drive home. Then you passed out on the couch."

I hide my scarlet expression.

"You were so hungover in the morning that you spent three hours throwing up in the bathroom."

I drop my arms with a glare at her.

"Come on… We can laugh about it now!"

"I'm not laughing."

"Well, you should be. I'm going to go get some wine for us." Laura hops off the couch and leaves.

I move to the railing and stare out into the horizon. The trees rock back and forth in the soft breeze.

I'm about to trail after Laura when I notice a dark shape blotting out the stars on the horizon. Squinting, I skip down the steps to observe it better.

Like a shadow, the form wavers near the trees and I catch the gritty squeal of tires on grass.

"All right, I've got your favorite wine and some… Clint, what are you doing?"

"Laura, get inside."

She appears beside me. "What's that?"

I wave her back, my voice like ice. "I don't know, just get inside!"

Without a word, Laura obeys.

The tire sounds are replaced with a whirring noise and a turret snaps to the side, revealing a giant, silver gun.

My muscles lock in place as a circular symbol flashes on the armor.

A red skull with octopus legs.

HYDRA.

I stumble up the porch steps and shriek Laura's name before the crack of tank blast sets the world on fire.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I'M SO HORRIBLE.

Want to know what I've done?

Too bad. Wait a few more chapters. Mwahaha!

Read and review!


	11. Chapter Ten - Need A Ride, Wingman?

Before I wrote chapter nine, one of my best friends gave me an explosion of ideas and that set my mind on fire. In a good way. I'm back to writing again!

I've been growing to love this particular character after watching the Captain America movies so I felt he needed a chapter.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Ten - Need A Ride, Wingman?

Living alone has a constant stream of benefits.

Your alarm can blare as loud as twenty roosters and you don't have anybody screaming at you to turn it off. Instead of having to separate the orange juice into colored cups with perfect precision, you can have the freezing pitcher all to yourself. Watching a movie at max volume with surround sound lining the walls has no price. You can spend an hour in the shower using the hot water with no one to get in afterward and complain about the cold.

I considered this peace.

But sometimes waking up to an unoccupied house isn't the best way to start the day. Returning from a jog only to be greeted by silence. Watching movies with one flimsy bowl of popcorn. I'd gotten tired of walking past the guest room, seeing the bedcovers neatly layered rather than crumpled to the side. Eating meals daily with three of the four seats at the kitchen table empty for over a year makes its mark. The government had even shut down my PTSD group I'd been running for fear that I'd have interactions with past soldiers and get into trouble again.

I never thought I'd get lonely living alone after the Civil War. When I purchased a house on the edge of Brooklyn, I pictured myself having the time of my life doing whatever I wanted, storing the winged jetpack away possibly for good. Peace? Yeah. Right.

It'd been peace for a little while, however, the countless months with no one else around and not many social events had formed an ache in my heart.

I don't know why. Before I met Steve Rogers, I'd never felt like this, even after weeks and weeks of the same, one-man routine. Maybe it'd been my wingman, Riley's, death that had driven loneliness from my mind. I suppose that morning I met Steve during the run ended up changing me for the better. Getting the jetpack strapped to my back once more to take down HYDRA and joining the Avengers'd been two of best decisions I'd ever decided on.

I never believed they'd back fire.

Typical routine: Rise early, exercise, come home. Shower, make breakfast, settle down to eat my fill.

This morning, it's different.

I'm halfway through my meal of seasoned eggs with cheese and fat sausage links before my phone buzzes with an unfamiliar ringtone.

I shake my head and spear the eggs with my fork. _Don't recognize it, shouldn't answer it._

The sound stops and I continue eating. The eggs go in minutes and I'm starting on the sausage when the phone rings again. Curious, I wait for it to stop, chewing the juicy sausage in quiet contemplation.

When it sounds a third time, I'm positive it's not some advertisement company trying to win my money and approach the phone.

The name stops me in my tracks.

 _Tony Stark._

I glance over at my hall closet where I can picture the winged jetpack on the top shelf. _God, Tony, I don't know what made you call me, but heavens, the only reason you would…_ My hand moves faster than light in answering the call.

"Sam Wilson."

"Sam. You're the…wing…person…?" Tony's voice is choppy and hesitant, as if it had taken a great bit of self-persuasion to make the call.

"You contacted the right wingman."

"Tell me the truth. After the Civil War, are we still on speaking terms?"

"Y'know, I haven't talked to you since that day in the Raft Prison. From what I heard happen in Siberia, I sure hope you've learned from your mistakes"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it." Tony grumbles, the static from the phone line sharp. "Lemmie in on something though. You still got that wingsuit…thing?"

"You kidding? I wouldn't throw away the old sucker if I had to."

The billionaire clears his throat. "I'm gathering all of the Avengers at Headquarters again. There's a past enemy called Vulture that was a danger to Queens a year or so back and we think he might be trying to rise to power again."

"You're bandin' up the gang again, Stark?"

"Long story short, yes. You wanna relive the glory days? Hop back on the team."

Chills race up my arms. "Count me in, Metal Man."

"Excuse me, it's-it's _Iron_ Man."

"In a few days' time, I'll be there."

"Right. Thanks, Wilson."

"See you, Stark."

I end the call and place the phone down. Goosebumps raising everywhere, I stomp my foot and cheer with a fist pumped in the air. In seconds, I'm tearing my jetpack out of the closet and wiping the dust off.

"We're back in business, baby."

A car horn from outside jerks me from my sentiment and I pull the curtains back.

Steve and Bucky occupy a glistening Toyota parked in front of the house. My nerves tingling, I push open the door and dismount the porch steps, lifting a hand to block the sun.

The windows roll down and Steve grins at me. "Need a ride, Wingman?"

"You got the message too?"

The super soldier shrugs. "In one way or another."

Bucky nods his greeting from the back seat. "It's good to see you again, Sam." A gentle smile pulls at his cheeks as we share unspoken memories from the Civil War.

"You too."

Steve gestures to the seat beside him. "You ready?"

"Give me a few minutes." I dart inside to stuff clothes into a suitcase and snatch my jetpack, hurrying around filling a bag with necessities. Soon, I'm sticking my things in the trunk and shutting the front passenger door. Before my seatbelt locks in place, Steve's already driving.

We carry on a light conversation for a little while before lapsing into talk about the Avengers.

"Sam, I wanted to thank you, actually."

I turn to Steve with a questioning expression. "Why? I should be thanking you."

"I wanted to give my thanks for sticking with in the Civil War. It ended up going terribly wrong, as you know, and we just lost contact with each other afterward. You've never given up on me and that's something I won't forget."

"Aww, you're gettin' sappy with me, Rogers."

"Well, I've got a reason." Steve changes lanes and speeds up, shooting a quick look over his shoulder. "You okay, Buck?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I figured talking about the Civil War would surface some bad memories."

"It's not like I can't handle it. I've got you."

I chuckle.

Bucky shifts in his position from behind me. "Sam?"

Preparing for another deep confession, I smirk. "Yeah?" _Come on, say it._

"Can you move your seat up?"

 _Busted._ "No! I've got long legs, soldier!"

"You can move over, Buck. We're at a steady speed right now." Steve winks at him from the rearview mirror and Bucky scoots to the middle seat.

Everything goes dark as we vanish under a tunnel. The lights along the rim flicker, flashing on and off in spontaneous bursts.

"That's convenient." Steve flicks on the headlights. "Just as _we_ are in the tunnel, the lights are almost out."

The soft voice murmurs from the back seat. "Electricity's against us."

I peer through the window. Buck's right in his own mind. The lights are on, then off. On, then off.

Steve grips the steering wheel, whipping his head back and forth. "This is distracting to drive in."

Bucky and I whisper the same, sympathizing with Cap.

On.

Off.

With the natural brightness gone, we can only rely on the luminescence of the dying bulbs.

Light.

On the walls. Red. Words.

Dark again.

I narrow my eyes, blinking rapidly. _Wait, what was that?_

Light.

Words. In blood. Dripping.

 _"Hail Hydra."_

Dark.

In seconds, we're out in the open again, cars all around us.

I observe behind us. "Did you two see that?"

Bucky breathes a shaky response and Steve nods.

"That was recent. It was dripping. Something's up. " Steve takes the exit heading to Queens, shaking himself. "Maybe– ."

"No." Buck's icy voice interrupts him. "Don't say maybe. HYDRA is _gone_. We all know that."

I shiver, rubbing my arms to calm the hairs rising. "The Avengers idea may not be so bad after all. What if things are really heating up again? You both ready to fight?"

Steve exhales in preparation. "Can't say no forever, right?"

Bucky grits his teeth. "If it comes to a fight, or even a war, then so be it. I'm not running away anymore."

Steve shakes my shoulder. "If it does, we'll fight together. All of us."

I exchange a look with my companions. "We'd need the entire team for a war like that."

"There'd be some alliances not everyone would be okay with. We'll need to set aside past grudges and differences to fight as one. As a team." Steve drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "Know anybody else we can grab to take to Headquarters? There's strength in numbers."

I stroke my jetpack. "I know a guy."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** GUESS WHO'S COMIN' IN?! YAY!

What's up with the HYDRA stuff? Mwahahahahaha!

Read and review!


	12. Chapter Eleven - Falcon On The Line

Again, this is one of the shorter chapters, but I only wanted to do a few things in this chapter, and I think I achieved them.

ANYWAY, this character is so fun to write because of how awkward he is. I hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Eleven - Falcon On The Line

Waiting anxiously by the window of my apartment, I flash a look at my watch. Dang it. Fifteen minutes.

Backing away from the window, I trip on a chair and stumble before regaining my footing. Muttering a curse, I pull up my pants and straighten the chair, pacing around the kitchen.

At ten, I'll see Cassie for the first time in months. School has taken up weeks of her time, despite her constant begging to see me. I tried not to complain too much to her mother either.

Ever since being recruited to fight with Falcon and Captain America, I've changed. I've seen Hank and Hope a few times, but mostly I've stayed away from the Pym Particle and the Ant-Man suit. Whenever I put it on, it spells trouble.

Like trouble's not already my middle name, but I've cleared myself from the negative newspaper articles, and I hope to keep it that way. However, if duty calls, I'll have to shrink back down to size again. Frankly, I know it'll be refreshing to slip into that suit for the first time in a year and a half. Life's been good. Nothing dangerous, nothing suspicious, just life.

Living it out here in my tiny apartment in San Francisco with a flimsy stash in my credit card doesn't get any better.

 _Hold on. Did I even have breakfast this morning?_

Rewinding through the morning, it comes to my attention that in my rush to get ready to see Cassie, I hadn't shoved a thing in my mouth. Within seconds, I have the Honey Nut Cheerios, Soymilk, a bowl, and a spoon out on the table. _I hope I can finish before Cassie gets here._

When Cassie bursts into the apartment with a bag slung over her shoulder and a brilliant smile, I'm red in the face and and wide-eyed, eating the last bite of Cheerios with milk dribbling down my chin. _Crap._

"Daddy, what are you doing?"

My cheeks burn and I grab a napkin to wipe off the last bits of my morning meal. "I'm– ," I nearly choke on a Cheerio, "I'm having breakfast." Dumping the spoon in the bowl and swatting it away, I shoot to my feet. "Had. I had…breakfast."

A few seconds resume that darken the crimson creeping along my face.

Cassie drops all of her luggage and jumps into my arms. "Daddy!"

"Hey, Cassie!" When I put her on her own two feet again, I kneel to her level. "How's my girl?"

"Great!"

I gasp. "Your two front teeth came in!"

"The dentist said I have the best teeth in the whole wide world. They're the shiniest and the cleanest he's ever seen."

"Well, I can't be surprised. You probably brush better than me!" I poke her in the stomach resulting in her squirming away from me and giggling.

I glance up to see Maggie smiling down at us. She gives me a nod.

"And guess who we brought, Daddy?"

"Who, peanut?"

As if in answer, the life-size ant skitters into the doorway, twitching his antennae and cocking his head.

"Ant-thony!" He rushes right up to me and nuzzles my cheek. Memories of the pet named after the KIA soldier, Ant-thony, rush into my brain and a fresh wave of love for the large insect bubbles into a laugh. "You brought him all the way here? How'd he like the drive?"

"He was perfect, Scott." It's Maggie who answers this time. "Cassie played with him the entire time."

I rub in-between his antennae and he purrs. "Oh, you're such a good boy, Ant-thony!"

"All right, I'll come pick you up at five, okay, Cassie?" Upon Cassie's response, Maggie waves and leaves as quickly as she'd come.

"What do you want to do?" I turn to Cassie, my face lighting up.

"I've got some ideas…"

An hour later, we're on the ground fiddling with some board game pieces when the phone in the kitchen jerks me from a deep thought. "I'll be back in a second, Cassie." Strolling to the counter and narrowly missing the chair again, I lean over the phone and my eyebrows rocket sky high at the contact.

 _Sam Wilson._

Open mouthed, I pick up the phone and hover my thumb over the green button. _Falcon?_

"What is it, Daddy?"

"This- this is for work, peanut. I've gotta take this, okay? I'll only be a minute." I retreat to the porch and answer the call. "Hello?"

"What's up, Tic-Tac?"

"You're Falcon?"

"The one and only."

"I-I can't believe it! An Avenger's calling me! I've gotta tell Hope about this. This is so exciting, I can't even– !"

"Don't get so pumped, Antie. Save that for later."

My brow collapses. "Later? What do you mean later?"

"You've been– Oh– Gods– !" A roar pierces my ears and wind howls on his end.

"Are you flying?"

"It's harder than it sounds to fly and talk to _you_ at the same time."

"Thanks. Anyway, what do you mean by later? Pumped up for what?"

"You really haven't guessed?"

"Uh…"

"The Avengers. We're coming back together again."

A chill throughout my whole body makes me shiver. "The Avengers? You're saying that I'm an Avenger?"

"Why not? You fought with us in the Civil War."

"Doesn't Tony organize the Avengers?"

"He does, but– ."

"So I'm not an official Avenger."

"Shut your trap, Tic-Tac! I'm offering you a place on the team before Tony has the chance to reject you. I was originally going to Avengers HQ with Bucky and Cap, but I figured that if you come with me, then Tony will have to talk in front of all of us if he wants to boot you out."

"I can't believe it. I'm getting back in the suit again. Oh my– ."

"Goodness me, chill out, Scott. If you're freaking out now, just wait until we get to Headquarters. _All_ of the Avengers will be there. You'll get to officially meet everyone, including some of your opponents in the Civil War."

"Oh… Opponents?" My jittering nerves speed up.

"Scared to have your butt kicked again?"

"Won't they want to kick me out too? Not just Tony? The last time I had an interaction with Tony, I busted his suit."

"Ah, no hard feelings, Antie. The Civil War's done and over, and so are the grudges. Tony's not going to kick you out because you pulled a wire."

"Are you coming here now?"

"Yep. I'll be here in about an hour."

I leap to my feet. "An hour?"

"Be ready in your suit. You're gonna ride in my pocket. Your ants are too slow to keep up with me and my jetpack. I'll see you later, Scott."

"Okay." When I hang up, my hands are shaking as I punch in the numbers for Cassie's mother. At the beep from the voicemail, I begin with a trembling voice. "Hey, Maggie… Um… Something's come up with work. It's a good thing, but I'm going to need you to pick Cassie up a bit earlier. How about twelve o'clock? Yeah. I know it's a lot earlier then when she was going to leave, but this is important. I'll try not to get myself arrested. Thanks. Bye."

The phone slips from numb fingers and I tilt my head back, rubbing my forehead.

 _I'm an Avenger. I'm part of the team._

 _It's time._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** TIC-TAC'S BACK!

Read and review!


	13. Chapter Twelve - Scarlet Visions

These next few chapters will be on the shorter side I'm guessing, but whatevs. It's the context, not the length that really makes a chapter IMO. And I can get more posted quicker!

This chapter was such fun to write! You'll find out who this chapter focuses on, but when I got the idea for what happens in this chapter, I got really excited. Awkward Tony is always enjoyable too. :)

It's nice to read great reviews as well. :D I'm so glad you people are enjoying this!

This chapter got me to one hundred pages in the original document! This is the longest I've ever gotten with a fanfiction! And I've got so many more ideas... Mwaaaahahahahaha! Most are not good for the characters. :)

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twelve - Scarlet Visions

When Vision had woken me at four o' clock in the morning telling me to get ready for a mysterious hike, I hadn't know what to expect. Groaning, I'd lifted myself from the safety and warmth of my bed covers and thrown on the same outfit as yesterday. For most people, wake me up and I won't talk to you for the entire morning. But not for Vision. He's the only person who can jerk me out of a deep slumber and not get yelled at later.

It hadn't been until we'd started to hike and an hour had passed that I'd known what Vis was doing.

The three-hour hike to a secluded loch in Scotland had been more than worth it.

Crystalized mountains claw the crisp sky, cutting it open and releasing the clouds. Grey and white vapor streak across the sky, reflecting off the rippling water. A stiff breeze tingles my skin, brushing my hair and scarf to the side. I sneak to the shore, watching the rocks shift with the waving tide.

Vision steps beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. His silky voice tickles by my ear. "Did I surprise you?"

"What part?"

"All of it."

"Waking up at four AM was a surprise, but…"

"Well…minus that part."

"This is so wonderful, Vis." My red cheeks ache from smiling.

"I'd like to do this again sometime. The hike was quite enjoyable if I do say so myself."

"I couldn't agree more." I wet my chapped lips and turn to him. "But…maybe a little later in the day next time?"

A smooth grin glides across his pale face. "Of course."

We sit on the rocky shore, arms around each other. I lean into his embrace, resting my head on his shoulder. "I wish we could stay together forever."

"Why must you merely wish it, Wanda? Ever since the Sokovia Accords bloomed the rivalry between Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers, we've been able to live together like this, away from civilization. Why should it be any different than the past year and a half?"

I bite my lip. "But…the Avengers… We can't retire to be together."

"Clint's done it. Why not us?"

"We give a lot to the group. They need us."

"We haven't been contacted in over a year."

"That's because nothing's happened that has required the Avengers to reassemble. Anything could happen to anyone. What if– ."

"Hush, Wanda." Vision strokes my hair. "We can talk about this later. For now, I want only to be with you. Nothing else."

Snuggling nearer to him, a yawn tugs my jaws apart and I cover my mouth with a chilly hand.

"Tired?"

"Just a bit." I blink up at Vis with a sleepy smile. "You're going to have to learn to tell time when you want to hike with me again."

"I'll make sure to turn the clock forward a few hours. How about that?"

"Morning is morning, Vis."

"Rest. We'll go back when you wake up."

Nuzzling my cheek into his shoulder, I close my eyes and drift into a peaceful sleep to the gentle lapping of water.

Three hours later, Vision's nudging me into awakening with my phone in his hand.

"What…? What's going on…?" Rubbing my eyes, I sit up and tilt my head at Vision, who holds up the ringing device in answer.

The name rings a minor bell in my head. "Tony?"

"Mr. Stark is calling."

An idea dawns on me. "The Avengers." Answering the call, I put it on speaker and set it down in front of us. "Hello?"

"Wanda? Vision? You both there?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

"All right, listen. I know you both have a thing, and that's fine. Everyone has things and those things are important to all of us."

I roll my eyes. "Get to the point, Tony."

"Fine. I need you at Avengers Headquarters within the next few days. I'm gathering everyone here."

"What seems to be the problem that would arise the need to contact us?" Vision runs his hand over the gem on his forehead.

"There's an enemy named Vulture. He caused some trouble in Queens, New York, a year or so back, and he's returning with vengeance. I'm putting the team back together again in case he tries anything."

Vis frowns. "So you're calling us together when you don't even know if this…Vulture…is going to strike at all? What if we comply and nothing happens? We will have congregated for nothing."

"I don't know the details yet, but if you could just show up…"

"We'll think about it, okay?" I exchange a look with Vis.

"Use that brain power. I'm expecting an answer in the next few hours. Get talking, you two." His voice cuts off and the line goes dead.

Vision sighs. "How convenient that the morning you talk about the Avengers, we're recruited again."

"What do you think we should do?"

"What we should do and what we want to do are two very different things. The optimal response would be to stay together."

"We can still stay together even if we _do_ go."

"Please, Wanda. Don't call Mr. Stark back. Let's wait a few days. If he calls us back, then we'll go."

Pursing my lips, I scramble to my feet. "But…" I drop my head. "Vis, are you sure about this?"

"There's no harm in trying, Wanda. Please." Vision caresses my cheek, staring deeply into my eyes.

"We _have_ been trying. For over a year. We may not be able to be together like you're imagining. It's moments like these where I have to decide what comes first: duty or love. I can't choose right now. I need…"

"Time." Vis crouches to pick up my phone. "We both need time. And I understand your side of the argument, but are you willing to wait?"

I observe my feet, mulling it over. "Okay. I trust you."

Vision nods in thanks and hands my device back.

My hands meet the gadget and my sight flashes with red.

 _Echoes. Echoing. Darkness. Crimson._

I double over and cry out as pain rips through my head. Vision's voice is distant as he grips my shoulders.

 _A symbol, burning and glowing. One word. HYDRA. HYDRA._

 _Wings. Vulture. Such hunger, such…vengeance._

 _Faces. Fire. Tanks stained with blood. A yellow gauntlet. Six stones._

 _Blue, yellow, red, purple, green, orange._

 _Six stones._

 _Six. Stones. Six…_

"Wanda!"

Vision's scream jolts me from the dream and I tear my eyes open. I'm lying in his arms, curled in a ball with my hands over my ears and tears streaming down my face.

"Wanda, what is it? What's wrong?"

I scramble away from Vision, the HYDRA brand smoking in my head. Every muscle is quivering.

"Wanda, talk to me, please."

"I saw something. An illusion."

Breathing hard, Vis helps me stand. "What did you see?"

"HYDRA. The Vulture's not the only threat coming. HYDRA's back." My sight blurs with tears and a sob catches in my throat.

"It's okay. It's all right." Vision brings me in close and hugs me.

I close my eyes. _Stones. Six stones. Blue, yellow, red–_ My eyelids snap open. _Yellow._ I pull away from him and fix my sight on his forehead where the pulsating stone rests, bright yellow. "I saw stones. Six stones of different colors."

Vision's eyes widen and he touches the gem on his brow.

I nod, shaking. "Vis, we can't stay. Horrible things are going to happen. I know it. Vulture is only part of the danger." My gaze finds the phone on the rocks where Tony's contact shines on the screen. "I know it."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** You've probably realized that in tense moments or rapid thought processes, I often use fragments and one-word sentences. That just comes from my writing style, as I believe that, when there is a tense scene like that or something related, shorter is better because it forces the reader's mind to read and process the information differently. I did that with Peter's nightmare in chapter one and his panic attack in chapter three if you remember. I feel it's really effective, so expect to see more of that style. :)

Read and review!


	14. Chapter Thirteen - Press It Gently

This is the last chapter that's going to focus on an Avenger being contacted, so be prepared to see them all together in the next chapter!

Anyway, this is probably the shortest chapter yet, but I think it's still a very fun-loving chapter, with a bit of kissing, references, and nice dialogue.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen - Press It Gently

"So what did Odin do then?"

I reach across the table and smooth a strand of Jane's hair behind her ear. "He held Mjolnir up high and swung at Laufey with the great hammer, knocking him into oblivion. He wasn't seen again for two thousand years."

Jane giggles and snakes her fingers in-between mine. "You tell the best stories."

"Yes, but that one's not real."

Her face falls. "What?"

"Some of stories I tell are more dramatic versions of the battles of my father and his other triumphs. Odin did not take Mjolnir into the Battle of Jotunheim, but instead wielded Gungnir, the spear of the Asgardian king."

"Still a great story." Jane taps my wrist. "You're so dramatic."

"I am a god, after all." I grin and rise from my seat.

"You should stay longer than just a few days. Earth loves you." My girlfriend massages my shoulders. "And so do I."

"I feel it's time to see Asgard again. I haven't been there in a while and would like to revisit my homeland."

"Couldn't you stay at least a few more hours? I can teach you Sorry."

"Is that not the game where you take the lives of others and then proceed to apologize dearly for it?"

Jane shrugs. "That's one way to put it. Come on! It's fun." She pulls me into a room separate from the kitchen and tugs the game from the shelf. "I'll give you the advantage and go easy on you."

"You think you can best the Son of Odin?" I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

Jane winks. "I can try."

Twenty minutes later, I'm slapping my red piece down on her yellow one. "Ha! Trying indeed…"

"You're not sorry?"

I scoff. "I don't have to say it."

"Yes, you do. Use your manners, Thor! Or maybe you don't have any, being a god and all." Jane extends her arm over the board and nabs her piece. "I wouldn't be surprised."

A warm smile crosses my face and I brush her cheek, causing her to lift her head. Our noses touch. "I'm sorry."

"That's better."

I cup her tiny face with my rough hands and we collide with a shared hunger for the gentle kiss. Ignoring the game board, I tug her toward me, supporting her head with my palm and running my fingers through her hair.

A loud knock interrupts our tender moment and a door opens.

"Jane? You here?"

"Darcy!" Jane gives me an apologetic frown and greets her friend in the kitchen. "Oh, hello, Ian."

I enter to find both of the newcomers carrying plastic bags.

Jane puts her hands on her hips. "Any luck?"

"Nope. Bananas were gone, cucumbers were gone, ice cream was gone– ."

"All of it? I only asked for one flavor."

Darcy dumps the bags on the table. " _Now_ it's gone. We cleared the aisle."

"Darcy!" Jane clenches her fists. "How much money did you spend?"

"I dunno. A couple hundred dollars, probably. Ian, could you go get the other bags? There're…what, two dozen more?"

As they continue their banter, the phone in my jean pocket buzzes, vibrating my hip. _Ugh, still not used to having a phone._ I dig the device out of the cavernous pouch and rub my giant finger across the screen. _Can't…press…the green…button…_ I grind my teeth, my jaw aching. Rubbing turns to hitting, fueled by my mounting aggravation for technology. _By Odin's Beard, Stark, how do you work with these things?_ In an abrupt sway of memory, Loki's voice demands my compliance as I fight to calm my temper.

 _"_ _No, don't hit it. Just press it, gently."_

I stop my finger above the green button and a mutter slips between my teeth. "Pressing it gently, indeed. Thank you, Loki." The tactic succeeds and static growls from the speaker. After asking for a minute in the hallway, I leave Jane and lay the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"How's life in cosmos, Point Break?"

"Stark?"

"You got the phone to work yet?"

"I did, yes. I don't know how you're able to work these things with such precision. It took me– ."

"Yeah, I'll stop you there. Do you know why I'm calling?"

"Should I care?"

"The question is…are you ready?"

A chill trails down my spine. "Is this about the Avengers?"

"Current score: One."

"What's going on? Nothing's been on the news around the Avengers Headquarters. Don't tell me this is a trick. I had enough of that for many a year."

"Even though I'm the only person that would joke about this, this isn't one."

"Why should I come if there's no danger?"

"Zip it, Point Break. I didn't say there wasn't any danger. Vulture. Ever heard of him?"

"The man with wings who was on the news a year and a half ago?"

"Wonderful. Got that backstory already. Anyway, Banner and I are suspicious that he'll try to attack Avengers Headquarters soon and with more power than last time. You think you could make it to HQ in the next few days?"

"I could make it, yes."

"You promise me you will?"

"I'm not the kind to back down."

"Yes, but you have a history of leaving without warning and without telling anyone. Remember Ultron?"

"That was different. Anyway, I promise, as the Son of Odin, that I will arrive at Avengers Headquarters as quickly as possible. All right?"

"Great. That's spectacular. Catch you later, Point Break."

I end the call and release a long breath. _I may be leaving sooner than I thought._

Jane creeps into the hallway. "Thor? Is everything okay? You sounded really serious from the kitchen."

"Jane, it's about the Avengers. I'm going to need to depart soon."

"What's happening? Is it Malekith?"

"Things are fine, Jane. Stark just wants me for some…meeting, I assume. There're no confirmed threats at the moment, just a speculation."

"So you leaving is based on false facts that you've been told."

"Well, not necessarily false, Stark has been right before– ."

"I don't want you to get yourself killed." Jane corners me. "You've almost died twice before in front of me and it would be worse to see it on the news– ."

"Jane, I will return. I swear it."

"You'd better."

Weaving through Darcy and Ian, I exit the house and call for Mjolnir. Once the sacred hammer is in the right hands, I'm on my way to Headquarters after a quick parting kiss with Jane.

Once again robed in Asgardian attire, I'm off heading for the tech genius's giant mansion.

What's next?

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** What's next, you say? Hmmm, let me list the events...

Never mind, haha! I have sooooooo many awesome plans for future chapters! And I'm going to warn you all, while the next chapter will be great, the ending of it will set in motion another group of painful chapters (for the characters at least) so don't get used to the leisure of peace.

Read and review!


	15. Chapter Fourteen - Avengers Assemble

FINALLY THIS CHAPTER IS HERE! I've been waiting so long for a chapter where everyone's together!

This chapter contains a potentially heartbreaking cliffhanger. Mwahahahahaha! Hahaha...! Ha...ha... *sob*

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Spiderman franchise, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen - Avengers Assemble

Adjusting the sling for my left arm, I wheel myself in the swivel chair closer to the desk, counting the pieces of tech. I'd taken two hours to take this computer apart and, despite my efforts to do everything one-handed, the results are disappointing.

I let the screwdriver fall to the floor. "Stupid… This old computer's got nothing good in it."

"Well, it's not exactly Stark tech."

Whirling around, I find Mr. Stark standing beside my bed, arms crossed and the door closed. "I-I didn't hear you come in." _Because of my normal DNA. I can barely hear anything compared to a few weeks ago. Stupid._

"How you doing, kiddo?"

I shrug my right arm. "Better than a week ago."

"How's the arm?"

"Getting better."

"Fevers?"

"Nope. Infection's gone. Mr. Banner's knowledge and the tech is making it heal faster."

"That's some good news. How's mobility?"

"It's getting there. Still hurts if I move it too much so I try not to."

"Physical therapy will help."

I groan. "Don't remind me." Leaning back, I twirl a pencil in my hand. "How's Ned and May?"

"They had to go home. May had work and Ned had school. They said they'll visit regularly though."

Sighing, I poke the pile of computer organs with a bigger screwdriver, extending my hearing to other rooms. Whoops. Forgot. Can't do that anymore. Trying to distract myself, I glance over at Mr. Stark. "I didn't see you at all yesterday. What were you doing?"

"I had to make some calls. A lot of 'em."

"Hmm."

The TV on my wall pipes up with the news, the enthusiastic reporter ranting about the latest events against a blue wall.

"Just yesterday night outside of Queens, a large group of thugs raided a mall and stole a multitude of expensive equipment, beating two civilians to death in order to escape with their prize."

This catches my attention and I can't help but watch the footage of the occurrence. "No…"

"They were incredibly persistent and cunning in covering their tracks, as the police are still searching. Many, as well as the owners of the stores, were heartbroken to find their artifacts stolen or broken and loved ones dead or injured."

I clench my fists around the arms of the chair as my eyes well up.

"This event begs the question from many a witness: where has Queens' local crime-stopper, the Spiderman, gone?"

I lower my head with a grimace, fighting the tears.

"The Spiderman became an icon in Queens years back, and now many are hungry for the truth of his sudden disappearance two weeks ago. What– ?"

"Mute." Mr. Stark's calming hand rests on my leg and he kneels in front of me. "Pete."

I shut my eyes and a tear trickles down my cheek. "I should've been there."

"You're hurt."

"I'm Spiderman. A little cut shouldn't stop me."

"Yes, but– ."

"If it wasn't for the break in and my DNA gone," my nails dig into the arms of the chair, "I would've been able to save them!" Gritting my teeth, I look Mr. Stark in the eye, fuming and breathing hard.

"Peter, you can't save everyone. Please, if there's anyone who knows that, it's me."

"You what heard that reporter said. They're relying on me."

"People used to rely on me too, kid. I learned a lot of lessons, and you will too. You'll heal. We'll get your DNA back. I promise."

I relax my arms, letting the right one dangle off the chair. "I just can't get used to not having powers after having them for so long."

"Don't worry, Pete. Life isn't gonna be boring without them, at least for the next few weeks."

"What do you mean? Why not?"

A knock on the door makes us both switch our focus. Mr. Banner sticks his head in the room.

"Oh, Dr. Banner." Tony stands, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Tony, they're here."

"Everyone?"

"Sam and Thor just arrived."

"Great. I'll be there in a minute."

When Mr. Banner leaves, Tony pivots on his heel. "Pete, I've got a surprise for you."

"He said Thor. What's happening?"

"Come with me."

I follow Mr. Stark out of my quarters. We weave through some hallways, take an elevator, and walk out onto a balcony with staircases on either side leading to a vast open space below.

A surge of excitement overwhelms me as I clench the railing and stare down into the occupied room. My eyes bulge and a smile breaks out on my face.

 _No way._

 _Every single Avenger._

Mr. Stark pats me between the shoulder blades. "What'd you think, Peter?"

"I-I can't believe– why would you– why are they– what?"

"I figured it was time."

 _Everyone. Literally everyone._ My arms shaking, I scan the room. _Captain America, Black Widow, Thor, Vision, Scarlet Witch, Falcon, oh my gosh… So many icons… Right in front of me._

Captain America chats with a metal-armed man with Thor nearby while Black Widow and Mr. Banner carry on what looks like an awkward conversation. Falcon and that man with the red and grey suit from the battle at Berlin stand together, admiring each other's suits. Scarlet Witch and Vision observe the groups from a distance.

"Tony!" Captain America spots us and saunters to the staircases at the side of the balcony.

Mr. Stark flinches and mutters a curse.

The captain ascends the steps and pauses in front of Mr. Stark. "Tony." He nods in greeting and sticks out a gloved hand.

Mr. Stark approaches Cap and takes a deep breath before initiating the handshake with a stiff arm. "Captain."

"It's good to be back, Tony. Nice to see you again, kid."

"Y-Yeah. You too…" Flashbacks of buying Captain America figures at the mall as a child throw me back as I stare, open-mouthed, at the Avenger before me. _I know I've met him before, but that was a fight. That was different._

"I don't think we've ever met officially." Cap salutes. "Steve Rogers."

"Peter Parker."

When Steve returns to the bottom floor, Mr. Stark leans over the railing. "Everyone here?"

The Avengers assemble below the balcony, grouping in a circle.

"Hold on, Natasha, where's Clint?" Mr. Stark narrows his eyes.

The assassin holds his gaze. "He refused. Clint retired years ago, don't you remember that?"

"I thought he might've changed his mind."

"If anything, he's grown more certain of his decision over the years."

Falcon clears his throat. "Care to explain to _everyone_ about why you called us, Tony?"

"Doesn't everyone know?"

The red-and-grey-suited man tentatively lifts his hand. "Uh…I don't exactly know what we're doing."

Mr. Stark tilts his head. "Who're you?"

"Tony, this is Scott Lang." Falcon steps to the man's side. "Or Ant-Man. Remember that giant during the Civil War? That's him."

"You mean the one who wrecked my suit?"

"He didn't wreck your suit, he clipped a string or two." Falcon clapped his hands. "Your genius brain could've figured out the malfunction in no time. But yes. That was Scott."

Scott gives a flimsy wave in Mr. Stark's direction. "Hey… Iron Man– ."

Falcon slapped him in the arm to shut him up.

"Anyway. I guess I should just tell everyone what's going on. Anybody ever heard of Vulture? Adrian Toomes? Yes? No? Doesn't matter. What does matter is the fact that he's back and hiring people to do his jobs for him. He messed with Queens a year and half back in time but ultimately ended up failing. Now, he's trying different things like paying others to get himself off of the news."

Captain America taps his foot. "What's Vulture's mission, what's he trying to do, and why did you call the _entire_ team together to fight a single enemy who was unsuccessful? Couldn't you take care of him no problem with all of your flashy suits?"

Mr. Stark nods at me before continuing. "I'm sure all of you remember Spiderman from that Civil War. That random boy I recruited from Queens? He's right here."

A dozen pairs of eyes move to me and I inch closer to Mr. Stark as heat floods across my face. _Too many eyes, too many eyes._

"This is Peter Parker and he was the one who stopped Vulture's first plans. A few weeks ago, Peter overheard a conversation between Toomes and another man, who calls himself Digg. Later that week, there was a break in at Peter's house. He didn't leave without a bullet shoved in his shoulder. If it wasn't for my suit and a great deal of cauterization, he would've bled to death. He was brought here after the situation. Hasn't gone home since. One's things been made clear: Vulture wants nothing but revenge. He's taken some pretty massive moves and risks toward Peter, but the fact that, now, he is staying away from the public and having others do the dirty work instead of just going for it means he's planning this all out. Now I know that story relates to none of you, but I was talking with Bruce the other day and he threw out some suggestions. What if…Vulture gets his hands on some of the alien tech? What if he opens another wormhole? Anything to that scale needs the Avengers."

Thor flips Mjolnir and catches it with one hand. "You do know that all of those potential disasters you just mentioned were paired with a what if, correct?"

"Yes, however– ."

"There's no however to talk about here." Thor sets the hammer down. "We all have other lives to attend to. You've never gathered us for something that could potentially happen, only for real threats that are mere days away from doing so. Loki had already stolen the Tesseract when we first came together. Ultron had already caused enough trouble, and _then_ we assembled. Nothing's actually happening at the moment and you call us together to fight a bird?"

Vision drifts forward with Scarlet Witch at his side. "I believe this would be a good moment to mention…"

Scarlet Witch keeps her hand on Vision's shoulder. "I had an illusion."

Steve frowns. "What did you see?"

"The emblem of HYDRA."

The man with the metal arm goes rigid and snaps his head up. "What?"

Captain America shakes his head. "That's impossible. We got rid of them."

Scarlet Witch sighs. "I don't know whether it's true or not. That's all I saw regarding HYDRA. But I also a group of six stones of different colors."

Thor freezes. "Six stones? Different colors?"

Scarlet Witch nods, furrowing her brow at Thor. "Do you recognize what I'm talking about?"

"During the time of Ultron, I asked my friend, Eric Selvig, for assistance in finding a place called the Water of Sights. Whilst I was in the pool, I received a vision, part of which involved a few colored stones. Infinity Stones, one of which resides on Vision's forehead."

Mr. Stark releases a heavy breath. "So…what does this mean? These…illusions… What do they mean for us?"

Thor squeezes Mjolnir's handle. "They mean that there's a larger power at work other than just Vulture."

Captain America turns from his place beside the metal-armed man. "I suspect that HYDRA's back as well." When his friend next to him stiffens, Steve returns his attention to him.

Mr. Stark's voice rumbles from the balcony. "Just like that, Captain? How are you sure of this? Where's your proof?"

Falcon clicks a button on his jetpack. "Aside from what Wanda saw, Cap, Bucky, and I were driving here and when we drove through a tunnel, someone had painted the words _Hail HYDRA_ in blood on the wall. The effect is there."

Jarvis chooses that moment to buzz in with an update. "Mr. Stark, sir, Nick Fury from SHIELD is contacting you. It appears to be an urgent call."

Steve straightens and the others turn toward the direction of the noise.

"All right. Send him through." Mr. Stark waves his hand in the air.

A roaring noise penetrates the air, followed by the whirring of an engine. "Tony? You there?"

"We're all here, Nick."

"The Avengers?"

"Yessiree."

"Good. I'm flying over to the compound now. Get me Dr. Banner as soon as I land and prepare a medical room."

Cap responds at once. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

"It's Clint."

Black Widow jolts into focus. "Clint? What do you mean? What's going on? Is he okay?"

"HYDRA. They're back. Sometime yesterday night, they sent a tank to his house and blew it up."

Murmurs of concern float through the Avengers. Black Widow answers with a trembling voice. "How badly injured are they? We can help them, right?"

There's a pause, then a lengthy exhale. "Nat… I'm so sorry. Clint…he was the only survivor."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I AM A HORRIBLE HUMAN BEING.

No, never mind, that's called being a writer.

Now Clint's going to have to deal with his wife and three children being murdered by HYDRA. I am both excited and terrified to have to do this to Clint.

I said I was going to kill characters, didn't I?

Read and review!


	16. Chapter Fifteen - Chemistry By Concern

Finally! I've had a teensy bit or writer's block and it was a bit busy the past few weeks, but finally I'm getting a new chapter out!

Recently, I made an MCU character ranking list, and the top four characters included Loki, Bucky, Peter, and Clint.

Peter, Bucky, and Clint will be the ones getting major disasters and the book will be structured around their said disasters.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Fifteen - Chemistry By Concern

"The entire house fell on him?" My scream echoes off of the walls.

Nick grips my arm as we speed-walk through the halls, heading for the medical rooms. "It fell on everyone, Natasha. Clint just happened to be the only survivor."

"Why should this have to happen?" Unshed tears sear in my eyes. "They didn't deserve this." When Nick doesn't respond, I pester him further. "How is he? You've barely told me anything."

"It's bad. I didn't have time to focus on his injuries before I recovered him from the rubble, but he was out cold. Didn't move at all on the way here."

I swallow hard. "Has Bruce already started working on him?"

"He's assessing the injuries now."

"Good."

Throughout my life, I've taught myself to be cool and collected in any situation, life-threatening or not. It's worked and enemies see me as more of a danger because of it. But I do have my weaknesses, ones that make the mask drop. Clint is one of those such weaknesses. When something happens to him, something that causes me to worry, any barrier hiding the vulnerability shatters, revealing emotions that I would never express otherwise.

We pass door after door, the lack of noise on the other sides proving the absence of occupation. Finally, the last door on the right of the corridor approaches and we enter without a delay.

I see the blood first.

Clint lies face-up on a white medical bed, a bloodied bandage around his head with ugly, dark bruises coloring his brow.

Rushing to his side, I yelp his name and run my hand over the gauze. The hair surrounding the bandages is wet and sticky with blood. Observing the rest of his body, a dizziness grows in my skull with every new injury I pinpoint. Scalding burns inhabit much of Clint's visible skin, charred red and black. One of his arms twists in a painful direction, limp at his side. A cardiac monitor beeps slowly by the desk across the room and an oxygen mask straps to Clint's face. His breathing comes in quick, shallow bursts.

I pull a chair up beside the bed and direct my shaking voice to Bruce. "List the injuries."

Clicking away at the computers and holograms, Bruce glances behind his shoulder and steps up beside Clint's bed. "There's a gash on the side of his head that had been bleeding through the entire flight, according to Nick. Severe bruising, third-degree burns in most places, ruptured eardrums, multiple limb fractures, a few cracked ribs, a severe concussion, head trauma, and possible neurological damage."

The blood drains from my face and I clutch the arm of the chair as Bruce's words echo back to me. "How long until he's healed?"

"I estimate over three months for everything to heal in ideal situations. When Clint wakes up, the side effects from the concussion might stall his memory and he won't remember the event that caused it. He might be able to go a few days without realizing that his family is gone, but once he knows, his grief will discourage him from the desire to get better at all. I'm honestly not expecting ideal circumstances, but it could happen."

"How long until he wakes up?"

"I don't know."

"You're a doctor– you should know that." Clint's bloody face makes my stomach clench and my head whirl.

"Natasha– ."

"Enough!" Nick's voice breaks our hostility. "There's no time for misplaced arguments. Romanoff, Banner, do what you wish, but don't engage. It can only end badly."

"Are you staying? With us?" I hold his gaze.

"I need to have a talk with Stark, then I might come back."

I'm listening to Nick, but I can't take my eyes off Clint. Before I know it, Bruce is at my side, his rumbling speech vibrating near my ear.

"Stay strong, Natasha."

That line immediately zaps me back in time.

 _Standing in front of the mirror, I fiddle with the wet strands of auburn hair, staring at the wild nature mirrored in my green eyes. A deadly image, one of dark secrets and unpredictable moves. Insult me, and you could be dead in seconds. KGB my whole life. Trained in the Red Room. Going from running to refuge. Was joining SHIELD the right choice?_

 _"_ _If you need a hair straightener…"_

 _I whip around to find that bow-wielding SHIELD agent beside my room's door._

 _"_ _Just let us know."_

 _I don't even smile at his humorous attempt. "Hey, Arrow Man." Stepping out of the bathroom, I tilt my head in his direction. "Still trying to kill me?"_

 _"_ _I would've done that a long time ago if I was trying."_

 _"_ _It felt like you were trying. I'm not bested that easily." Flicking my hair to the side, I straighten my bed covers and gaze out the window. "You know, I'm strictly against changing careers on the fly."_

 _"_ _Oh, SHIELD's not so bad. You'll warm up to them and Nick in no time."_

 _"_ _Negative. Frozen mask my whole life."_

 _The lights flip on. "Maybe I can start a fire to burn that fake expression off of you."_

 _I turn to him, a growl to my voice. "You think you can? You're staring at the most professional spy on the earth, unrivaled in secrecy and martial arts. I was announced to be the greatest international assassin of the KGB."_

 _He shrugs. "Now you're the greatest in SHIELD."_

 _"_ _By choice or recommendation?"_

 _"_ _Depends." He takes a few steps toward me._

 _"_ _Risky business, marksman."_

 _"_ _What, walking toward you?" He chuckles. "All I've gotten from you since I entered are a few sassy comebacks and an egotistic ramble."_

 _"_ _I'll stop you there– why are you here? You've got no reason to be engaging."_

 _"_ _We've never officially met, have we?"_

 _"_ _What?"_

 _He offers me a handshake. "I'm Clint."_

 _Neither of my hands even budge. "Black Widow."_

 _"_ _Come on, that's not your real name, is it?"_

 _"_ _Why wouldn't it be?"_

 _"_ _Everyone's got a code name."_

 _"_ _Well, I don't. How about that?"_

 _"_ _Nice lie." Clint backs up and heads to the door. "You'll like SHIELD. I'll make sure you do. I saw potential in you, and nothing about that's changed."_

 _"_ _I'll make sure I stay at least five feet away from you at all times. Don't get personal."_

 _Clint smiles from the shadow of the doorway. "Stay strong, Natasha."_

I drift out of the memory with a smile on my face. _Stay strong._

"You look tired, Nat. Go to your quarters and rest."

Reaching forward, I stroke Clint's motionless arm. "You can't kick me out, Bruce. I'm staying."

"Then take a nap in here. I don't mind."

"You don't?"

"I don't want you snapping at me from lack of sleep. Get some rest."

I'd barely slept at all in the past day, as I'd driven through the night to get to the compound. It takes me a few minutes, but eventually, I oblige and slump in the chair, surrendering to my fatigue.

Multiple hours later, I'm jerked into awakening by a beeping sound and I gasp, gripping my chair.

"Nat, it's okay. Nothing's wrong." Bruce's calming hand holds my wrist down.

"What was that?"

"I'm preparing a blood transfusion for Clint. It's all right."

"A what?" I twist my head to the side and spot Bruce wheeling an IV pole beside Clint's pillow with a bag of red liquid hanging from the top. "Blood transfusion? Where'd you get the blood? Are you sure it's okay for him?"

"Natasha, I know what I'm doing. And through the wonder of this era's technology, I've been able to save a few past blood donations. Clint's lucky."

"Why does he need one?"

"Much like what happened to that kid, Spiderman, a few weeks ago, Clint's gone into shock from blood loss. I'm just doing the same thing– giving him a blood transfusion. It saved Peter's life, and it'll save Clint's too."

I watch Bruce as he connects the IV to the vein in Clint's arm and works on the blood's passage into his body.

"How's his heartbeat?"

"It's slow. The speed has been all over the place since Nick brought him in, but hopefully, with this blood transfusion, it'll get steadier."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah. Take care of yourself."

This draws a little grin out of me.

"And…Natasha?"

"Hmm?" I keep my eyes on Clint, scanning his face for signs of awakening.

"I'm sorry. I really am."

"For what?"

"For…" Bruce sighs. "You know. Backing out on you. On us. I seriously didn't believe we could be together. If the Hulk can take control that easily then– ."

"Then we'd have some work to do." I stand up and catch his hands in motion. "It's not impossible."

Bruce meets my eyes, his forehead creased with emotion and his eyes deep. "Natasha… You'd do it? You'd give me a second chance?"

I run my hand along his jawline, getting a bit closer. "Why not? I'm all for second chances."

"Natasha, I– ."

Closing in, I stop his words with a kiss. When I pull away, Bruce's hand tugs me back.

"Nat…" His eyes carry a forgotten lust and longing for the chemistry we had abandoned, and every second, the passion in his hands as he takes my own grows ever stronger.

"I…" Sparing a quick look at Clint, I exhale. "I want to make sure that-that our love doesn't get in the way of any missions. Now…with Clint like this… Bruce, I'm sorry. We don't have the time anymore to explore ourselves together."

"We can try. Right? Are you willing?"

"I don't– ."

"Please, Natasha. I know that you're going to be by Clint's side as many times as you can, and I'm the one that's healing him. We'll likely be together a lot in these next few months while Clint's recuperating. There's an opportunity already."

My heart flutters at the truth in his words. _Could we still have a connection? Could we really get back together again?_

"So? You in?"

"As long as our love doesn't become a distraction to our jobs as the Avengers, I'm all for it."

Bruce greets the statement with a wistful smile, his ravenous eyes darting to my lips for a split second.

I lay my hands on his chest, leaning forward. "Such a hopeless romantic…"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I'm going to love delving into the two of them.

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	17. Chapter Sixteen - Not Like I Imagined

I know you guys probably want to know what's going on with Clint and Nat x Bruce, but I want to have a few filler chapters with other characters before Clint wakes up and the real "Clint section" begins. :)

Recently, I've been getting so many good ideas from a friend of mine, so I'm SUPER DUPER excited for the future of this book!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Sixteen - Not Like I Imagined

Ever since Mr. Stark had invited all of the Avengers to the compound, I'd figured I would awaken with a jittering excitement every morning knowing that Earth's Mightiest Heroes were in the same building as me. But after the director of SHIELD had announced Hawkeye's disaster, a heavy urgency had settled onto the Avengers as they'd awaited the Quinjet's arrival. Immediately when it had landed, Hawkeye was rushed into a medical room by Bruce and neither of them had been seen since.

I know some people would assume that because I'm a teenager, I can't pick up on the severity of things happening around me. That couldn't be farther from the truth.

I've heard about HYDRA. Of course, it's all been from reading comics and being told a little about it, but I know it's an evil organization that broke apart long ago. When the SHIELD director, Nick Fury, had called, I hadn't been oblivious to the knowledge. Whatever happened, I know people died. I know Hawkeye almost did.

I want to be pumped up at the fact that I saw all of the Avengers in one place. I want to call Ned and pour to him all of the details. But…the time's not right.

While I don't personally know any of the Avengers, the frequent negative responses I get from them when I ask how Hawkeye's doing have been affecting me. It's not hyped up like it should be. It's dull and colorless with worry.

On top of that, there's been no luck with my senses coming back. I'm…normal. It's strange. Ridiculous, even. I've been having a difficult time navigating, as I can't sense obstacles when they're coming and instead run into them, prompting a creeping red to crawl onto my face. Mr. Stark lets me come out of my room now, for my shoulder is almost healed, however, I usually don't anyway. While sometimes during the past few years, the amount of sensory input in my surroundings has been too much, now it's too little. I'm constantly asking for others to repeat what they'd said or talk louder.

Sighing, I fold my crumpled bed sheets and toss them in a hamper by the door. I slump in my swivel chair, flicking a pencil on my desk. A science textbook sits open on the table, highlighters off to the side. Even while out of school for now, I still must find time for homework.

Stupid high school.

"Peter?"

I jerk to the side, startled by the sudden voice. My mouth drops. Standing in the doorway is Ned, a backpack over his shoulder and a jacket slung around himself. "Ned?" Jumping out of my chair, I approach him with a giant smile. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at school!"

"All of the teachers had some sort of meeting. I didn't have anything better to do, so I thought I'd come and see you."

"That's amazing! I've missed hanging out with you. It's sure been dull without my best friend around."

"With the Avengers here? I expected you to be off the rails crazy with them around you. Earth's Mightiest Heroes…" Ned's eyes twinkle and he sets his backpack down.

"Yeah, well…about that…"

"Is it your arm? Are you okay?"

"No, no, it's not that. My shoulder's fine. It's not too far from healed."

"Then that's great! We can get back to building Lego sets in no time! I'll list off the Lego sets that still need building and you can text me which one you want to– ."

"Ned." I give him a hard look.

He stops short and frowns, exhaling. "I'm sorry… I've just been super worried about you, dude. I want to believe everything's back to normal and that we can hang out, piecing Lego sets together like we used to, but it's not the same. You're at Avengers Headquarters now."

"I know, Ned. And I'm sorry too. If things were different, or if they'd stayed the same, it would still be like that." I clap him on the shoulder and usher him over to my bed where the two of us plop down across from each other.

"So…what's going on, Peter?"

"What do you mean? With me?"

"With the Avengers. I expected to see them training or fighting or something, but I didn't see many of them when I came in. The ones that I saw were either occupied or by themselves, looking really serious. What happened?"

"Y'know Hawkeye?"

Ned's eyes widen. "You actually met Hawkeye?"

"No. I saw him. From a distance. Anyway, he wasn't going to come to the Avengers meeting because apparently, he's retired from the team. Something happened where he lives and it was bad. He got severely injured and has been in a medical room here since two days ago."

"You're not going to tell me what that _something_ is?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I can handle it."

"It's HYDRA. From what I heard, they blew up his house and Hawkeye's entire family died."

Ned stares at me. "HY…HYDRA? I thought that was only a story… They're real?"

Averting my eyes, I nod slowly. "Yeah. They're real. A few hours ago, I was passing some of the Avengers quarters to get to the bathroom and I heard Captain America mention HYDRA in a room nearby."

Even the mention of Ned's favorite Avenger doesn't phase him. His face paler than minutes ago, he slides off the bed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Do you wanna…walk around Headquarters a bit?"

Attempting to shake off the effects of our conversation, I face him with a furrowed brow. "Why?"

"I kind of want to see more of it. I came straight here when I arrived."

Mr. Stark's words repeat back to me.

 _"_ _You need to walk around the compound daily to get used to your diminished senses. That's the only way you're going to learn how to adapt. Use the gloves I made for you."_

"Okay, let's go." I grab a pair of silver gloves on my nightstand and slip them on, following Ned out of my quarters. Fiddling with the minimal vibranium tech in the gloves lining my tendons, I dial the sensory input in my hands to eleven.

"What are you doing, man?"

"Hang on." Holding my hands up in front of me, I flex my fingers, watching as the vibranium tendons follow their movement. "Ned, do me a favor and touch the door." When my friend obeys, I run my palm over my door handle, grinning as the familiar prickle alerts me to Ned's touch.

"What do those gloves do?"

"I can feel you."

"You can– what?"

"Mr. Stark made these gloves for me. He was able to get my sense of touch back to what I'm used to, working in the last of the vibranium in his lab and his tech, but it doesn't look like that'll be happening with anything else. Still, it's an improvement."

"You still haven't been able to get your senses back?"

"Other than my hands, no. That's why Mr. Stark's been telling me to walk around the compound daily."

"So…it's like physical therapy?"

I shrug. "A bit. I had to do it with my shoulder too."

With Ned at my side, we carry a few light conversations, stopping multiple times for me to regain my footing after I'd tripped over something I hadn't sensed. Throughout the stroll, I keep my fingers bouncing along the walls and furniture, relishing the tingle in my hands with every touch. At least something's back to normal.

Ned glances at me when we reach my quarters again. "Is this whole top floor a circle?"

"Yep. The Avengers quarters are off of the balcony and it circles back around. There are some flights of stairs and elevators that we passed that lead to other floors."

"This facility is so sweet." Ned's face, devoid of its earlier shock, lights up as he inspects the home of heroes. "I wish I lived here like you."

"I don't live here, Ned. It's just temporary."

Ned lends me a quick smirk. "It's cool to imagine it."

Watching my friend's wonderstruck eyes, I lean against my hand on the wall. A massive chill runs up my arm and I wrench it back to my side with a gasp.

"Peter? What– ?"

A reddish-grey figure coalesces through the room beside mine, his cape folding out behind him. The yellow stone on his head glimmers faintly in the dying sunlight.

Ned inhales. "It's– ."

Vision shifts his focus to me. "Hello, Spiderman." The smooth, British voice defuses into the air.

Stunned, I barely get the words out. "You can– you can call me Peter."

"I've heard a lot about you from Mr. Stark. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

I nod in agreement. "Where's Scarlet Witch?"

"She's downstairs visiting Clint. I was about to join her." After introducing himself to Ned, he struts off, phasing through an elevator door.

Ned grabs my arms. "That was Vision."

"Yep. Ned, yes– ."

"Peter."

I turn to him, caught off guard by his anxious voice. "What?"

"I just met an Avenger."

I chuckle. _That's the nerdy best friend I know._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I thought of those gloves on the spot... xD

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	18. Chapter Seventeen - Pyramid of Ash

One of the longest chapters yet! YES! I meant to do another filler chapter, but I was too unenthusiastic so I got to this chapter right away. This chapter was so sad! It was a blast to write, though. :)

The future holds a lot. Stick around!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Seventeen - Pyramid Of Ash

The days tick by, minute by minute, and every one of them is spent at Clint's bedside. X-rays and CT scans, wrist braces and bone immobilization. Removing dead burn tissue. Punctured lung treatment, chest tube. Visits from the other Avengers. Conversations with Bruce and constant queries about my partner's health. A few days pass. Chest tube out, lung recovering. Still no sign of awakening for Clint. Mentions of skin grafts and donors.

Occasionally, I tear myself away from Bruce and Clint to socialize with the others. Steve seems to repeatedly seek me out then proceed to sputter a stream of questions concerning my own health and Clint's. It's been a long time since we've all been together, and I attempt to seize the moments during which I can communicate with Avengers I've not seen in years.

Tony winds up planning a party outside with beer and games involved a week into Clint's arrival, but it feels wrong to leave him in the medical room, bloody and bandaged. Still, I manage to attend a few hours, sipping the red margarita along a salted rim and listening to conversations around me. It comes to my attention that Thor is a better storyteller than he sometimes appears to be, spouting countless journeys in verbal form of his Asgardian victories. Tony gets a few minutes of attention before the thrill of the party is swept in a different direction. Even though I don't approach him, that kid from the Civil War, Peter, looks to be enjoying himself immensely, chatting with the other Avengers with those Stark-tech-gloves on. Maybe he's not so bad after all. Definitely not a bad fighter, as the Civil War proved. Maybe I should get to know him a little.

As soon as the sun begins to set, I trade a few words with Scott and Bucky, then resume my post at Clint's side.

"What's a skin graft again, Bruce?" I smooth Clint's hair in a soothing motion, finding that it calms me as well.

"A skin graft is taking flesh from an unburned area of the body through surgery and covering the burn with it. Most third-degree burns require a graft to heal properly." Bruce leans over Clint's injuries, inspecting them with a careful eye.

"I volunteer to be a donor."

Bruce glances up at me. "You're sure about that? You'll need to heal too."

I let out a long sigh. "Are we really going to have this conversation again, Bruce? I've been set on my decision since you mentioned it. I don't care if it's going to hurt. I want to help Clint in any way I can."

Bruce stares at me for a few more seconds before nodding. "All right. It's your choice."

"I'll be ready for the surgery tomorrow."

The successful surgery is conducted the following day and I'm given a daily dressing to apply to the donor site.

One day, two. Dressing changed on Clint's burns. Three days, four. Bruises turn from brown to yellow, signs of healing. Five days. A game of cards with Sam and a lengthy discussion with Nick about HYDRA.

They're back. They're regrouping again. That's final. The dangerous question is when– and where– will they strike next? HYDRA obviously meant to hit Clint hard with the intention of shaking all of us, and I'll say it worked to some extent.

Six days. A bit of training with Wanda and Bucky. Casual chats with Steve and Vision. Seven days. Once again, with Clint.

Yawning, I peer up at the clock. Half-past noon. Lunchtime. Hunger pangs tug at my belly, but Clint's first on my watch. It takes me an hour to dress both Clint's burns and my donor site, during which Bruce arrives with meals for both of us.

"Thanks." A soft smile lifts my cheeks as I take the tray from the doctor after the dressings. My stomach grumbles and my mouth waters as I look on at the delicacies provided. Finger sandwiches stuffed with meat and exotic cheeses pile on a large place circled with square crackers and sliced apples. Two cups of water sit in the corner of the tray beside a creamy, orange dip.

Bruce selects one of the sandwiches. "Who'd have thought Sam was this great at preparing meals? He made all of this."

"I'm not too surprised. When he has a chance to help, he'll take it. During the time of the Winter Soldier and HYDRA's reemergence before the Civil War, he let Steve and I stay at his house without a second thought. He made meals for us constantly and offered to help us in any way he could."

"Yeah, that sounds like him. Steve's like that too." Bruce takes the tray from me when I'm finished, setting it on the desk.

I lean back in my chair, downing my water in seconds. "How's Clint doing?"

"Not badly. Treatments are going well, but slowly. The danger of fatalities is almost gone."

"Almost?"

"The possibility for burn infections and pneumonia due to his broken ribs and shallow breathing are still present. When he starts to wake up and recover, I'll talk to him about breathing exercises to help with his lung and ribs."

"His lung's fine though, right?"

"Not entirely. It's no longer collapsed, thanks to the chest tube, however, it'll still be a painful healing process."

"His concussion?"

"His head has most likely recovered from the trauma, but I can't be sure whether the symptoms are gone until Clint wakes up."

Satisfied with the information, I finish the cup's contents and toss it into the trash, scooting my chair closer to Clint. My eyes dart to a picture on the nightstand and unwelcome tears blur my sight.

The Barton family settles on the porch steps of their house, a pleasant farm scene presenting a peaceful backdrop. At the time of the photo, Nathanial hadn't been born, but the shining smiles of Lila and Cooper in their parents' arms make up for his absence. I lift the picture only to find another one beneath it with me beside them and the image shoots me into one of my favorite memories of my countless visits.

 _Standing next to the dartboard, I watch as Clint kneels to Cooper's level to direct his hand and arm in the right direction._

 _"Look, you've gotta close one eye and hover the target just above the tip of the dart. Throw it like you're throwing a paper airplane. You can do that, right?" Clint ruffles his son's hair._

 _Cooper's tongue pokes out of chapped lips in concentration, his skinny fingers gripping the dart._

 _"Daddy, Daddy, can I try when Cooper's done?" Lila skips into the room, her blond locks bouncing on her shoulders._

 _Clint nods. "In a minute, flower."_

 _Lila wraps her tiny arms around my leg as she observes her father with wide eyes._

 _The dart lands smack in the middle and cheers and applause fill the room._

 _Cooper jumps up and down, pumping his fists in the air as Clint lifts him in his arms, kissing him soundly on the cheek. "Can I try your bow and arrow, Daddy?"_

 _"Not that one, but I'll tell you what– I'll make you a wooden bow that you can practice with later, okay?"_

 _Cooper grins and wiggles out of Clint's arms._

 _Lila circles around my partner's legs, her lobster-claw hands snapping back and forth. "Pick me up, Daddy! Pick me up!" She squeals as Clint's hands dig into her sides and her legs jerk upward, smacking her father in the chin._

 _Clint collapses on the couch, disappearing under his squirming children with tears of laughter glistening on his face._

* * *

Darkness. A painful pulse. Pressure.

Echoing heartbeat.

Awake.

A shrill ringing in my ears prompts a grimace and the muffled voices around me grow louder. If I'm groaning, I can't hear it. My head pounds like Thor's smashing his hammer against my skull. Sleep is tempting, but reality is closer than ever. I crack open my eyes and white overwhelms my vision. Objects in sets of two and three brawl for the spotlight. Everything's swimming, glazing over in a haze of pain. A blurry figure sits close to me, dressed in black.

 _Who…?_

Red hair. A light grin. Green eyes that reflect my own.

"T…Tasha…?"

She nods, stroking my hair with an outstretched hand. "Hey, Arrow Man."

My mind speeds up a little and I recall our first official meeting.

I stare at her, pinpointing creases and dark circles that are often hidden by a stoic facade. Tears glisten in her gaze.

Scanning the room, I spot Bruce sitting close by, but something's different. This room… White walls. Desks and poles beside a monitor. Empty chairs, minimal windows, a few cabinets. The feeling of being elevated.

Twisting my head to the side and wincing at the sudden pain, I observe my situation. Both my wrists are in brace, one of my arms wrapped entirely. With every breath, an agonizing pressure prevents deep respiration and a freezing bag of ice sits on my chest. A multitude of IVs protrude from several veins along my body and my legs are scarred with faded, reddish-black tissue. At an attempt to move, pain sears across every muscle and I groan, squeezing my eyes shut as everything swerves out of focus.

"Steady, Clint." Natasha's calming voice loosens the clench in my jaws.

Something in the room beeps. Breathing hard, I go into tunnel vision for a moment before pulling myself out, centering my sight on my partner.

"Natasha… What… Where am I…? What's going on…?"

It's Bruce who answers. "You're at the compound. Avengers Headquarters. The new one that was built a year ago."

"The compound?" I wrestle against my pain and try to sit up.

"Clint, stop. You're going to hurt yourself." Nat urges me back on the bed. "You've got a concussion. You're confused."

"Yeah, I'm confused! Why am I here? I should be with…with my family." I squeeze Tasha's hand.

Natasha purses her lips, exchanging a look with Bruce. "Clint…how much do you remember?"

"Of what…?" I glance at my injuries. _Why am I–_

 _Natasha. She came to see me at the farm. Wanted me to rejoin the Avengers. I refused. After that…what did I do?_ I shake my head, moaning as the pain increases. _I refused. I didn't join. Nat left. Laura. Laura and I got the kids to bed, then sat outside. What else?_

"Clint."

 _Outside. We talked. About the Avengers. She wanted me to consider my decision. The sky went dark. Dark. Didn't Laura go inside? I stayed out, but there was… What was there…?_ I shut my eyes, compelling the picture to clear. _There was…_

I snap my head up, gasping.

 _That tank. HYDRA. Fire._

"Clint?"

"HYDRA." The word croaks out as a whisper. "A tank. That symbol."

"So you remember?"

Flashes of memory wrench my stomach upside-down and my eyes flood with tears.

 _The dark square rumbles near the tree line and a turret snaps to the side, revealing a giant, silver gun._

 _My muscles lock in place as a circular symbol flashes on the armor._

 _A red skull with octopus legs._

 _HYDRA._

 _I stumble up the steps._

 _"LAURA!"_

 _A crack of sound like thunder. Fire. White. Red._

 _Darkness._

"Laura. My family." I turn to Bruce, my heart aching. "They're okay, right? They're not injured badly?"

Bruce avoids my gaze and instead moves to Natasha.

"Tasha…? Look at me. What's happened? Where's Laura?" My growling demand crackles with pain, but I persist. "Cooper? Nathaniel? Lila?" Both of the Avengers refuse to meet my eyes. _The way they're acting. It's as if my family is…_

A tear rolls down Natasha's cheek.

 _…dead._

 _NO. That's not true. How could I ever think that?_ "Take me to see them. Now."

"Clint– ."

"Now _._ " The word burns on my tongue, grinding out of gritted teeth.

Bruce departs for a few minutes and returns with perspiration dotting his brow.

I'm wheeled on my medical bed out of the room and the surroundings rush by. Before I know it, I'm taken into the outside where a Quinjet grumbles in preparation on a flight deck.

"Wh-what's going on? What are we doing out here?" Heart racing, I'm pushed into the jet and connected to the side by a large, metal contraption. Nick Fury at the controls, he hits a button, causing the door to click shut.

Natasha is at my side again, caressing my arm like she would a frightened puppy.

"Nat… Where are you taking me?" Beads of sweat roll down my face as the agony of my wounds threaten to take over.

"You asked to see your family, and we're taking you there."

"But– ."

"No more talking, Clint. You'll understand soon enough."

"I don't…I don't understand any of this… I…" The Quinjet ascends into the air, rocking everyone– and everything– onboard. A bout of nausea accompanies a swell of pain in my skull. Groaning, I drop my head back on the pillow, closing my eyes against the dizzy spells.

Natasha's hand tightens around my arm.

The Quinjet finds a steady speed and I manage to slip into a light sleep for an hour or two before I'm awoken by Natasha and Nick talking.

"But when he discovers what's happened, who knows how he'll react. Are you sure this was a good idea, Nick?"

 _Natasha._

"It's better that he's sees for himself. He won't believe us unless he does."

 _Fury._ My eyes flutter open. "Nat."

Tasha notices me awake and rushes to my side. "Don't worry. We'll be there soon."

"What were you talking about?"

"That's not important."

"Natasha. It's time for you to tell me."

"Too late, Agent Barton." Nick flicks a lever and glances back at me. "We're here."

"Where are we?"

"South Dakota. Couple miles west of Hill City. Farmland."

My heart skips a beat. _Hill City. South Dakota. Farmland._ "That's where my house is." My voice trembles. The nausea returns with full force, bringing with it the dizziness that had sent me into darkness earlier. "What's going on…?"

With the press of a button, the contraption releases me and Natasha trundles me out of the Quinjet.

The light blinds me for a moment, but when I lower my hand, the landscape before me steals the words from my mouth. The farm where I'd spent my married life hides under charred remains, half-collapsed and still smoking. Piles of ash fill the property, blowing like scorched butterflies in the chilled breeze. Debris trashes the once prospering land. Even the sky seems to mourn the devastation of what I'd once called my own, gray and foreboding of the realization to come. The homestead, once so sturdy and secure, is naught but a pyramid of broken memories.

"Wh…what…?" I force the shaking speech from my lips, tears blurring my sight.

 _This is a mistake. Not my house. Someone's else's._

"Clint…"

I barely feel a hand touch my shoulder. _Not my house. Not my house._

"Clint, your family's in there."

 _Not my house._

"There's not going to be anything left."

Straining against the bindings of my medical bed, I tear the IVs out and swing my legs over the side.

"Clint, what are you doing?"

All I see is the burnt wood. The shattered windows. The collapsed structure.

 _My family. They're in there._

Staggering transitions into running, the filthy ground blurring under my bare, burned feet. My heartbeat drowns out every other noise, hammering into my head as my pulse surges.

 _Thump._

The wood crumples under my weight as I stomp through the house, whipping my head back and forth.

 _Thump._

Hollering for my wife and children through a parched throat, I stumble along, wheezing in short gasps.

 _Thump._

Refusing to believe it, I fall to my knees, ripping helplessly into the wood. Ashes. Ashes. More ashes. And at the bottom–

A framed picture, split in half. Laura and I on the day of our wedding, the kiss still alive on our lips and the sparkling affection like a fire in her eyes.

 _Thump._

Tears stream down my bruised face. Someone's shaking my shoulder, saying my name.

Every memory made in this house, gone. My family, gone. Just like that.

Shadows.

They're dead.

Dead.

A pair of arms yank me to my feet. Everything's a haze.

 _Did they suffer? Even the bones… There's nothing left. Nothing at all._

 _My children… Laura… Gone._

 _Gone._

That night when the tank arrived…

 _I stumble up the porch steps and shriek Laura's name before the crack of tank blast sets the world on fire._

 _Sets the world on fire._

 _World on fire._

 _On fire._

 _Fire._

My legs buckle and the dark closes in.

Nothing.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** The power of repetition is strong with this chapter. :) You might've noticed I repeat the ending of chapter nine a lot, and that's because Clint is remembering it over and over again. And it's also a good way of making the reader's mind revert back to that chapter and that time in the book. It's a good tie-in.

If you're wondering why I'm doing so many internal thoughts, it's because it's a first person book. First person, present tense is the closest thing you can get to knowing the character's mind because the book is literally written in their head. That's why I write their thoughts like I do.

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	19. Chapter Eighteen - HYDRA's Hiding

Another long chapter! The focus of this chapter switches a lot. Because of that, it may feel all over the place, but I have good plans for the future!

Not much to say here.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Eighteen - HYDRA's Hiding

No one utters a single word on the way back to the compound.

Clint's out cold the entire flight. Nick's focus trains on navigating the Quinjet. And me? I'm…I'm not quite sure what to say. Whenever I try to talk, thoughts of Clint kill the words before they leave my lips. The short, multi-hour ride takes days in my mind.

When we return, Clint's rushed to the medical room and Nick disappears.

By the time the moon shows its face, my heart is still pumping as past as it had been during Clint's adrenaline rush toward the farm.

The moment I close my eyes and slip under, nightmares pull me right back out. Fatigue chooses not to come. Blankets on. Off. Lying on my side. Back. Stomach.

Why do I try? I know I'll never sleep after what happened today…

Once the moon retires and sun arrives, I've remained awake. Reaching toward the clicker on my nightstand, I flick on the news.

Tsunami in the Philippines.

"Far away from here."

Back robbery in California.

"Yeah, well, don't come calling."

The reeling events narrated by overly-enthusiastic reports present a helpful distraction for a little while, but even diversions don't last forever.

Boredom invites discouraging thoughts and I turn to the one option I can think of. Training. I squeeze into a lightweight suit, the rising sun bouncing off my trademark color– black. It's dark, it's silent, it's perfect.

Tugging open a side drawer, I select a few pistols and tools and fit them on my belt. I snag one look at a photo taken of the Barton family and lean forward, gripping the front of the desk with gloved hands.

 _I can't believe it. Everything Clint had now is suddenly…nothing. And Laura… The children… So young. All of them. Too young to deserve this. Clint… Long term, how's he going to take this? I'm no help in such a situation._ I halt in the doorway when an idea comes to mind. _Unless…_

I spin around and forage through the space, inspecting every slice of paper I come across. _Please tell me I still have that letter… Please._ Encountering an enormous stack of old SHIELD files, I complain under my breath and dump them in the trash can, only to freeze when a thick envelope slips from the paperwork. _Is that…?_ A few of the knots in my belly loosen at the words on the back:

" _To Clint Barton - my own personal Hawkeye_ "

I seize the prize with a triumphant chuckle and stash it on my dresser before departing to address my recent decision. The letter and Clint's fate overwhelm my senses for a few minutes until I drag my rumination to a more serious topic.

HYDRA.

The leaders of the past. Red Skull. Gone. Zola. Gone. Alexander Pierce. Gone. All dead. Who could lead them now? Even Rumlow is gone. Signs of reemergence have been negative up to this point. We have no current knowledge of this… _new_ HYDRA and we're unprepared. They attacked out of no where and if they do it again, it's unsure who they'll target next.

Dangerous mysteries.

A shadow mounts by my feet and a shoulder collides with mine. I lock my arms around the intruder's neck.

"Nice reflexes." A smooth smirk follows the remark.

Blinking twice, I relax and lower my arms, nodding in greeting. "Steve. I didn't see you coming."

"What's got you so focused?" Steve claps me on the shoulder, the glint in his eyes replaced with a flush of compassion. "Is it Clint?"

"Good guess."

He tilts his head. "HYDRA?"

"Affermative."

"Ah," Steve flinches, "I've been thinking about them too. It's strange, hiding in the dark for so long, then to ascend to power with such a brutal deed."

"I wouldn't exactly use that choice of words, but I get what you're saying."

"What words?"

"Ascend to power. I'm not receiving that message from them. We know they're back, however, we might not see them again for a while."

"So you think their plan is to attack us, then lay low until we let our guard down, then hit us again."

I dip my head. "It's a reasonable direction. It makes sense."

"We need to figure out where they've been hiding and what they're doing. Especially who they're serving under."

"I was considering that fact as well."

Silence dominates for a minute before Steve resumes, shedding unwanted light on a different topic. "How's Clint?"

I shake my head. "Not good. I don't know whether he's woken up or not– ."

"Woken up?"

"The shock. Pulled him right back down."

"So it was bad yesterday?"

"Clint's reaction was… It ruined some of the work Bruce had done on his wounds."

"We've all experienced grief. We can help him through this difficult time."

"I don't know if he'll listen to us. He's got no reason to keep on his feet. No mission to finish to distract himself. He's got at least a few more months of healing and resting to do before he'll be in top condition."

"He'll listen to you."

"You think so?"

"You're the closest thing to family at this point. You're his best support."

Sighing, I fiddle with the gun on my waist. "Have you been to see him recently?"

"Not since yesterday. What are you up to?"

"Training. Trying to distract myself."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Sure. Better not throw your shield at me or you're fired."

"From what? We're in the same business."

"Might be in the wrong one, Rogers."

Steve scoffs. "Trust me, if I was in the wrong business I would have fired myself."

"You can't do that."

"Yes, you can."

"How?"

"Escaping."

I sneer. "What, like after Pierce ordered you captured? Your motorcycle can't drive you everywhere."

"Determination can." The super-soldier adjust his armguards.

"Why is everything that comes out of your mouth so…you?"

Steve cocks an eyebrow at me. "Got a problem, Romanoff?"

I mutter a curse.

"Language."

By the time we reach the training room, we're laughing with giant smiles on our faces.

Leave it to Steve to cheer someone up.

As soon as Cap disappears behind the wall of the practicing arena, I plunk two guns from my belt, eyeing each of the human-shaped targets. With one smack of the red button nearby, the room explodes into an arena of lights. Human holograms spider along the walls, bound over fake obstacles, and rush at me, weapons loaded. Skipping forward, I dive under a holographic truck and emerge, shooting two enemies in the head. Blue arms seize my chest from behind. Ducking under his hold, I put a bullet through his foot and elbow his stomach. A gun to his forehead finishes him off. More holograms. One thug leaps at me. I sidestep and boot him into the second, downing them both. The other two fall as I scissor my legs around their throats, flipping off of their necks. I spring to my feet and catch a shape moving on the balcony.

One hostile. Gun raised.

Backflipping over an approaching enemy, I kick him into the incoming bullet and stun an additional two with my Widow Bite.

A fist slams into my temple. The adrenaline mutes the throbbing and I draw my electrical batons, blocking a few punches. A stab from the batons in the stomach and neck collapses the hologram.

Snapping my chin up, I locate three hostiles on the balcony.

Aimed weapons. Glock nineteens.

Slipping behind the truck, I flick a taser disk at one of the enemies. I mark one off my mental checklist and a rock hurled at my next target crosses the second-to-last off the record. A bullet whizzes by my ear.

Walther PP in both hands. Last hostile down.

The holographic landscape flickers and dies, revealing the empty room.

Blood boiling, I retrieve my fallen weapons.

Jarvis's robotic voice alerts me of my victory. "Wave one, completed."

"Not bad, Romanoff." Steve dismounts the stairs, smiling at me. "I was going to hit wave one as well, but decided to watch you. You've got it in you even now."

I shrug. "Well, can't go forgetting the skills that could be used to save lives. What's the point in that?"

"I know I can count on you."

"Go up there and fight your battles, old man." I poke him in the side, grinning.

"I think that's enough training for you today."

I cock my head. "And where's this unexpected demand coming from?"

"You should go see Clint."

A pang punctures the surface of my heart.

"I know you're avoiding it. You're afraid of what you'll see. But you're never going to know until you try. You might as well."

Accepting his affection, I nod. "You're right. I should." I hook my gun to my belt. "I'll see you later, Steve."

"You got it."

We part ways and I find myself weaving through the many corridors of Avengers Headquarters. Each step brings me closer to Clint. Steve's right. I don't know what I'm going to see. And I'm scared of it. I don't usually ask futurist questions and I don't say _what if_ a lot. I do what needs to be done. With a situation like this, I can't help but try to guess the future with silly inquiries.

The medical door draws near, the bottom flickering with a thin line of orange light. Shadows flitter across the bar of luminescence, indicating movement. I take a deep breath and plunge into the room.

Bruce looks up from a projected image on the wall of a cracked bone for a moment before acknowledging my presence and returning to his work.

Clint's awake.

Joining him at his side, I bring up a chair. "Clint?"

His eyes stare toward the ceiling, glazed over and unresponsive when I wave my hand over them.

"Clint, can you hear me?"

Again, nothing.

Resting back, I drum my fingers on the arm of the chair. "Bruce, what's going on?"

"He's in shock."

"Still?"

"He woke up, but he might not be able to hear you because of his punctured eardrums."

"But he's not blinking."

"He is, but it's slow. His mind is taken over by shock and grief, therefore, it's not paying any attention to blinking."

"How are his injuries?"

"I'm working on them. His flight yesterday knocked his ribs out of place. _But_ …"

"But?"

"I'm thinking, if all goes well, Clint may heal entirely within a few weeks."

My mouth drops open. "You said three months."

"I know, but Tony and I have been working on technological braces, bandages, earplugs, and enhanced ointments in order to speed up the healing process. We're combining his tech with my lab equipment to make these gadgets. If it works, everything will heal within two to three weeks."

"When will you be done with them?"

"Tony's not sure. We've finished the wrist braces and the burn salve, but that's it. He's decided not to try them out until they're all done. Believes it's better to heal everything at once rather than one injury at a time."

"Ask him to start applying the dressing at least."

"I'll try, but he's pretty protective of his work."

"What can I do to help?"

"Dress Clint's burns and your donor site, then if you still want to hang around, ice his ribs."

"Got it."

I spend the next two hours in the medical room, dressing the burns and holding a pack of ice to my partner's ribs. Clint says nothing and barely moves.

Not much activity that day. Sun goes down. Another restless night.

I'm jerked from a light sleep by Jarvis's voice.

"All Avengers who are able please gather in the main room for a meeting with Nick Fury from SHIELD. Mr. Banner may join, or stay with his patient."

 _Nick?_

Leaping from the bed, I prepare my appearance in five minutes and head downstairs.

All of the Avengers but Bruce have congregated in a circle of chairs in the living space, Nick pacing in the middle of them.

The director of SHIELD launches into the speech after waiting for multiple long seconds. "Avengers. All have heard the details of Agent Barton's situation. For those of you who haven't or have forgotten, let me enlighten you. A tank, one of HYDRA's, mind you, blew up Clint's house and murdered the rest of his family in cold blood. Why they did this, we do not yet know. I'm sure you all have been considering HYDRA's plan since the knowledge of the attack was spilled. I sure have. There are many questions I've been asking myself and that you may have demanded of your own thoughts. For example, where did HYDRA come from? They've been silent for so long, defeated even. But now we know they never left for good. Who is currently leading them? What's their motivation? Why did they wait this long to attack? And…one of the most important questions…when will they strike next? Now, let me tell you, HYDRA is not polite. The leader will not sit around, twiddling his thumbs in a swivel chair, and wait for us to walk up to his door and declare that we're at full health. They. Will not. Wait. If their motivation is the same as the last couple times we've faced them– that motivation being absolute control– then they will wait as long as it takes to prepare the weapons, then they'll come for us."

Steve clears his throat. "So you're insinuating that we strike first before they do?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"All right, here's the thing." Bucky leans forward, watching Nick from his place beside Steve.

I raise my eyebrows. _Huh, Bucky's joining the conversation. Usually, he pales at the mere mention of HYDRA._

"I know you were probably going to follow with the same thing, but your plan begs this statement. We don't even know where they are. They've been gone for years without a clue as to where they would've been hiding. Even if we _were_ ready, we wouldn't have the slightest idea where to find them. We can't strike before they do unless we have a location, otherwise we could be walking into a trap without knowing it."

"Buck's right." Steve scrutinizes Nick. "We need more information before we can take a stand."

"I understand what you're saying, Captain, but we could still initiate some investigations or spy missions to some places that could be potential locations of a base. We can't do nothing."

I pipe up for the first time. "I agree. We need to do something, and fast. We can't risk another attack."

Nick stuffs his hands in his pockets. "We'll need to start thinking of spots where HYDRA would hide themselves. It would need to be some place hidden, of course."

"Some place where the public wouldn't discover them. Secluded. Out of the way." Sam rubs his temple.

"It'd need to be easily accessible and capable of stable communication from long distances." I contribute my own thoughts.

"These are all correct implications, but to combine them into a single place is difficult." Nick sweeps his gaze through all of us.

"Another question would be how long they've been active." Steve straightens. "The answer would allow us to estimate the number of bases and hideouts they have. They could have hundreds, for all we know. The more camps they have, the more time they've had to build their weapons and their plans. Clint was the only one to see the tank at the night of the attack. If the tank was big, then we can assume HYDRA's had plenty of time to develop their machines and strategize their mission executions. Who knows? Maybe they're lying in wait for us. Maybe they're one hundred percent ready and waiting for us to stick our hands in the mud. They might be baiting us."

"If the tank was big enough to blow up Barton's house and take a few kills in the process, it must've been vast." Thor rubs his chin.

Bucky taps Steve's wrist. "The museum."

The captain's brow crumples. "What?"

"The museum. The section about you and World War II. Maybe we can find something about HYDRA there. Would they have possibly reverted back to their old locations? Or maybe they wanted to stay with the same ideas."

"Deep in forests… Underground… Or across the ocean. That's an idea. We could go back to the museum and read up. See if there's anything that could be a clue." Steve scratches his chin.

"We'd need to go back to Brooklyn to do that."

"Nick, Buck and I could take the first investigative mission. What'd you say?"

"You two are willing to jump right back into business? Just like that?"

Swallowing hard, Buck nods.

"This wouldn't be a real mission. We would only be checking things out."

"Think about it, captain. It could turn into a real mission. What if you somehow find HYDRA there? They could ambush you. You'd need to be prepared for anything."

"We'll take that chance."

I spy Buck's fists tremble at his sides during his words, deliberately hidden. _How is he going to feel about going on an investigative mission to search for HYDRA, the very thing that's been giving him nightmares since he recovered from the Civil War? I should probably go instead of him._ "Bucky, I'll go. You stay."

The soldier pauses. "No. I'm staying with Steve."

"You– ."

"I know why you're volunteering, but I'm _over_ it _._ "

I squint at him. "Are you?"

Buck flinches and breaks his attention.

"That's enough, you two." Steve's rough voice cuts our connection. "Nick, we'll leave tomorrow."

"Are you ready for that?"

Bucky tightens his lips. "Always."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I know the focus of the last part of this chapter seemed angled on Bucky, but I saw an opportunity and just couldn't help myself... xD I saw The Winter Soldier for the third time last Saturday– on my birthday– and I was reminded of how amazing Bucky is! I really really want to get to Bucky's section in the book, but Clint's is first. I do want there to be a gap between Clint and Buck's section though, so Buck's is not close, unfortunately. :( LOL!

I'm probably going to have to watch clips of Age of Ultron to get back into "Clint mode" for these next few chapters. :)

Clint is my favorite Avenger and my second favorite MCU character, topped only by Bucky. :)

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	20. Chapter Nineteen - Shadow of the Past

Here we go, another chapter! This chapter's pretty sad IMO, especially the ending... :( Not exactly sure what I'm going to be doing for these next few chapters though, so I might take a pause from writing to figure that out.

I got my first two Marvel movies last Friday when I had a birthday party, The Winter Soldier and Ant-Man and the Wasp! So excited!

Anyway, not much to say, hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Nineteen - Shadow of the Past

After the meeting, Steve corners me in the hallway.

"Natasha– ."

"I know what you're going to say and I don't want to hear it."

"Why did you volunteer?"

I click my heels on the floor, the echoes spreading through the vacant hallway.

"You're not the kind to worry about ones you don't know, and you don't know Bucky very well."

"I worry about you, though."

Steve opens his mouth to speak, pauses, then closes it again. "So that's it. You wanted to save me from a bad situation."

"It was the least I could've done. I know how much Bucky means to you. If something happens to him, we might get Clint all over again."

Steve's jaw works. "Bucky's been through _enough_. I'll make sure nothing happens to him."

"I know you will." I back up, angling my chin in such a way that catches the sunlight into my eyes.

"Where're you off to now?"

"To see Clint. I might as well."

"Good luck."

Steve leaves me with a thump on the shoulder before strutting off, shield on his back.

After finding the medical room empty and hearing that they'd moved him to his official rooms at the facility, I'm busting into Clint's quarters to discover my partner sitting up against some pillows on his bed and Bruce leaning over a desk.

"Oh, Nat. I'm glad you came." The doctor gestures to the objects on the table. "I was able to convince Tony to bring the tech as it was completed and not apply it all at once. I've got the burn ointment and the wrist braces here."

"Great." The wrist braces, like silver bands of tech made into a bandage, pulsate with a faint neon-blue light when activated.

"The braces will enhance the binding of the bones and keep them aligned. Clint would need to physically take them off to knock them out of place, as the tech holds the bones together."

"And the salve?" Unscrewing the lid to the jar of ointment, I plunge two fingers into the substance. The gooey dressing has a texture similar to shampoo, smooth and, simultaneously, dotted with tiny fragments.

"That will quicken the sealing of the burn tissue and prevent the skin graft from coming off. It will take longer to heal because a third-degree burn destroys the first two layers of skin, so the ointment repairs each layer in turn."

"What are these shards?" I scoop out a glop of the salve, squinting at the gray slivers.

"They're bits of nanotechnology that Tony invented to help combine the tissue and cells as the layers are healing. It was a last minute addition."

I give an interested hum as my answer and lift my pant leg, slapping the dose on my hand over my donor site.

"Now since your donor site is only one layer of destroyed skin, that should heal in about twelve hours."

"Good to hear."

"Want to help me apply all of this?"

"Why not?"

It takes thirty minutes to strap the wrist braces and spread the salve along Clint's legs. The entire time, Clint doesn't move. He stares straight ahead with foggy eyes, unconscious to the activity around him. With every minute that passes, the hole forming in my stomach cracks ever bigger.

By the time we're finished, I can't even talk to Bruce. Clint's face is shining with sweat and as pale as the pillow he's resting against. His expression, frozen in denial, tilts downward, as if every reason for self-sustainment has been torn from him.

Bruce massages my shoulder, his words soft. "You should try to talk to him."

"How long has he been like this?"

"He hasn't said a word since we got back from South Dakota. I'm hoping this is just a phase of his grief. Him not responding is dangerous."

"Dangerous? How?"

"Well, if he's not even responding to pain, I'm not sure what he'll respond to. In this state, he probably won't eat. I'm not certain whether he'll listen to me, even as his doctor. He hasn't so far." Bruce rubs his eyes and yawns, mumbling inaudibly.

"Bruce…you've been doing so much work for him. Do you think you could spare a couple of hours out? You need rest just as much as any of us. You haven't slept in days and it shows. We're all grateful to the work you're putting into healing him, but if you're too tired, then you're not doing any of us a favor by trying to stay awake. I can stay with him."

Bruce blinks. "You sure about this?"

"Positive."

"You might have more luck than me with getting him to talk."

"Maybe. Go get some rest, Bruce."

He nods. "All right. Thanks, Natasha."

"Anytime." I hook him into a kiss before he departs.

I'm alone. With Clint. Again.

* * *

 _"_ _Do you, Clint Barton, take this woman to be your wife? To promise to love and cherish her as long as she may live, to treat her as fairly as you treat yourself, to spend the rest of your days with her, and to support her when times get hard?"_

 _"_ _I do." Entranced in Laura's crystal-blue eyes, I can't look away even as the speech exits my mouth. But I mean every word._

 _"_ _Do you, Laura Bridgett, take this man to be your husband? To promise to follow and encourage him wherever his avenging may lead him, to never give up on him when SHIELD directs him elsewhere, and to constantly bring love and affection to him even in the darkest of days?"_

 _"_ _I do." Laura's smile never leaves. Her hand snakes up to my shoulder and her fingers tremble at my collar._

 _I spot Natasha in the background, a bouquet in her hands and her red locks bouncing along a white dress._

 _"_ _With the exchange of both the rings and the vows, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Clint, you may kiss the bride."_

 _Instead of leaning in gracefully, accepting our promises with a heartfelt embrace and kiss to begin our marriage, we fly into each other's arms, our lips slamming together as my heart explodes in my chest. Fireworks pop in my head, setting my pulse on fire as the applause surrounds us. We pull apart for breath, then dive back in. I grab my wife, twirling her around as our nerves roar with the affection for one another. Setting her down, a bubble of uncontainable laughter bursts from my chest as our eyes meet, blurry with tears of joy._

 _Everyone around us clapping, the flower petals, the ribbons, the smiles, none of that matters. I only see her. My love._

 _Laura squeals, her shaking hands stroking the tie at my neck._

 _"_ _I now present to you Clint and Laura Barton!"_

I curl my hands into fists, feeling the empty ring finger still marked with the loop of marriage.

None of that matters. I'd been right. None of it. Had mattered.

And even now, nothing else does.

 _Laura plops beside me on the bed. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you so excited, Clint."_

 _"_ _It just came out of me. I couldn't help it." A shiver of mirth raises goosebumps on my skin._

 _"_ _You still feeling it? Even a week after the wedding?"_

 _Massaging the ring, fresh against my finger, I smirk. "My love for you will never fade."_

 _"_ _Neither will mine."_

 _I inch my hand closer to Laura's, picturing her delicate fingers entwined with my rough ones._

My hand goes right through hers. My heart escalates and I click my head to the side.

No one. Just the bed. With no one there. No Laura. No marriage.

Everything's gone.

My lips hardly move. "She's…a…shadow… Not there… Not…"

Something moves at the corner of my vision.

 _Gone._

"Clint?"

A hand rests on mine.

"Laura…?" I twist my head. A woman. Red hair. Green eyes. Not Laura.

 _I spot Natasha in the background, a bouquet in her hands and her red locks bouncing along a white dress._

"Natasha…?"

The head bobs. "Yeah. It's me. I'm here."

"You're not Laura…" I rip my hand out of hers, staring instead at a photo of Laura on the table.

"Clint… No, I'm not. And I know that. I'm not trying to be."

 _Natasha. Laura. One's here. One's gone._

A sudden heat boils in my veins, stirring the coals within. "You're replacing her."

Natasha's gaze darkens. "You're crazy." She kneels down, trying to catch my eye. "No, Clint. I'm not replacing anyone. I want to help you."

"Help me?" My teeth grind until my jaws ache. "With what…?"

"Clint, I know you're grieving. I can help you through this. We all can, all of us. You can talk to us. We've all felt what you're feeling– ."

"You _don't_ know how this feels!" I jolt toward her.

Natasha scrambles away, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.

My throat burning with venom, I let my words drive me off the bed and toward her. "You don't and you never will!"

"Clint– ."

" _Stop!_ " I pound my hand on the wall, glowering down at her. I'm blind to the sight. I don't even know who I'm talking to anymore. All I feel is fire. Burning, blistering, searing…

 _"_ _Husband and wife…"_

 _"_ _Clint and Laura Barton…"_

"You try to act like you can fix every one of my problems, but what do _you_ know about love? My wife and children are dead." My fist cracks into the wall. " _Dead!_ You think you know how this feels, but you don't and never will! You can't. Have. Kids!"

Natasha ducks under my arms and rushes out of the room with a choked sound, shutting the door with a bang.

My chest heaving with painful breathes, I blink a few times, the fire ebbing. _Wait… Did I just… Natasha… What…?_

My fist throbbing, the coals dying, I collapse to the ground, shaking with incoming sobs.

 _Why?_

 _Laura…_

 _Why…?_

 _Please…_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Awwwww, poor Clint!

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	21. Chapter Twenty - Peanuts And Tears

I know it's been awhile, but I was able to squeeze in some writing time and got this chapter finished! This isn't a very long one, but it was very fun to write all the same.

Hope you enjoy this installment!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty - Peanuts And Tears

I'm pretty sure the day that Falcon called me to join the Avengers is the new best day of my life.

I'm…an Avenger. An Avenger. That's… Whew, that's a huge title. At first, I didn't think I could live up to it. But things have been all right so far. I'm been in some meetings, some amazing parties, and gotten to hear a bunch of pretty interesting stories from people who've seen so much more.

For example, Thor. Great storyteller. Who'd have known? Well, I hadn't actually met the guy until that first meeting with the Avengers, but he'd seemed okay. Before the party, I thought he'd be the kind of serious businessman that never laughed no matter how hard you tickled them. Thor, turns out, is actually quite the comedian. If he even gets a word in over Iron Man's egotistic proclamations.

Everything had been incredible.

Then that director of SHIELD, Nick Fury, had busted in with the emergency message.

Here I am, two weeks after that, slumped in a chair amid an empty room. I don't have quarters aside from the guest room, so I don't really have a place to call my own. Iron Man never considered me an Avenger, let alone knew me, so…I guess I'm not really one. Neither do I get a room to myself.

Aside…from…the guest room, of course.

Falcon keeps telling me otherwise. That I _am_ an Avenger.

Really? What have I done for the team? Sure, I fought a few of their members, but have I truly helped in any of the major world disasters that the Avengers have had to deal with?

Nope. Not one.

Still, I'm waiting for my chance. One on one fighting's not really my strong spot, I'd say, more like stealing things and sneaking around. I suppose that _should_ be one of my focus points, given that I can shrink at will.

My phone rattles near my hip, sending buzzes throughout my body. I'm about to sputter a stream of curses before I recognize the name projected on the tiny screen.

 _Cassie Lang._

Fighting back a sigh, I answer the phone, masking my listless voice with a bright, exciting tone. "Hi, peanut!"

"Daddy!"

My heart jumps at the sound, her speech alight with giggles. "What's up, peanut?"

"When are you coming home from work?"

I stop short, massaging my jaw. "Uh– I'm not– ."

Cassie gasps. "You got caught?"

"No, no! I'm not going to jail again. Don't worry."

"But…"

"Listen, I don't know when I'm coming back. I don't know what they're gonna ask me to do and I need to be here in case something happens. Maybe I can convince Maggie to bring you over sometime and you can see me. I'll introduce you to all of the Avengers!"

"You'll really do that?"

"Of course!"

"When?"

"I'll talk to…someone about it, okay?"

Cassie sighs. "Okay…"

"I'm sorry, peanut. I wish I could come over, but a lot of people would be angry with me if I left without warning."

"I understand. Be a hero for me?"

"Got it. I'll try to make something up to bring you over."

"Hope you can. Bye, Daddy."

"See you, peanut."

The line cuts off and I collapse into the chair. Now Cassie's calling me. Rubbing my hand across my face, I groan. _What should I do? This isn't like my house where I can just invite other people over. Cassie wants to see me, but I doubt Iron Man would want a kid running around._

 _"_ _Doesn't Tony organize the Avengers?"_

 _"_ _He does, but– ."_

 _"_ _So I'm not an official Avenger."_

Yeah. I'm not an Avenger. All I did was fight some of them. That doesn't make me one. When will I get a chance to use my abilities for a good cause? My specialty is sneaking around. I haven't been doing any of that. I want some opportunity to prove that I'm not just a tag-along.

Quick, yet heavy, footfalls jerk me from my state of pondering and I glance around. The steps reside from above me on the balcony. Someone's walking. Who? Cautious in my motive as to not be suspected of spying, I begin to pace, wandering ever closer to a view where the balcony and the quarters' doors are in sight. When the position is right, I pivot to note Black Widow skimming the balcony levels with a dutiful stride. Her red hair bounces on her stiff shoulders with every step, her gloved fists trembling at her sides. Puffy eyes rimmed in a tearful redness stare ahead, direct and unmoving. I purse my lips, unable to look away. What had happened to expose the Avenger's commonly-stoic facade to such emotion?

Target acquired.

Within a few minutes, I'm receiving joyous flashbacks as I shrink down to size once more. The thrill of the adventure sweeps me into the mission of my mind and I hop up the steps. I spot Black Widow's solemn, tear-streaked face and all sense of excitement vanishes as I remind myself of the apparent severity at hand. This mission is important to me. It is. Right? Right. No one else may want this info, but I'm going to find out what's happened even if I get stepped on. I slip behind a pole on the railing as Black Widow pounds a clenched hand on Captain America's door. _Captain America? What's she want with him?_

The door opens after a a brief delay. The captain's formal expression collapses into confusion. "Natasha? What's– ?"

"Just let me in." The assassin pushes her way into the room.

I slide under the door just as it's closing. I have no time to revel in my successful attempt at unsanctioned sneaking before I have to swerve to avoid the side of the famous shield and a pencil resting on the carpet. Breathing deeply, I take a seat behind the leg of a desk, peeking out to observe the pair's faces as they converse.

Black Widow swipes a tear from her cheek. "I'm coming with you to Brooklyn tomorrow. No questions. I'm coming."

"You're trying to volunteer again, aren't you?"

"Do you seriously think I would try to push Bucky's decision off the grid a second time? I don't worry about you _that_ much. I can mask my emotions better than that." She seats herself on the bed, her legs dangling off the mattress.

"Yeah, looks like you're doing a great job of hiding them now." Captain America perches beside her, allowing a few seconds of quiet.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

"Is it Clint?"

Black Widow bites her lip and her eyes well with tears. She nods slowly, her head lowered.

The captain wraps an arm around her shoulders, squeezing. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Black Widow quivers with a shaky exhale, tears rolling down her face. "I always thought… I always thought that-that even while Clint was grieving and not talking to anyone he still knew I was there. I wanted to be the one giving silent encouragement. To help him up, should he fall down, both literally and metaphorically. Clint didn't talk to me. It got me worried, but I continued to look after him, doing everything I could to aid his cause and stand by him. It came to the point that I didn't care if he talked to me or not– I just wanted to know that my friend was in there somewhere. I thought I was doing the right thing, staying with him through all those hours."

"That was the best thing you could've done– what are you talking about?"

Black Widow's body shivers with suppressed sobs. "I've never seen him mad. Not once. Even during battles, he's one of the few Avengers that stay calm in a crisis and– ," a tiny laugh escapes, "has the nerve to crack jokes even in the hardest battles. But…I-I don't even recognize him anymore."

"He was mad at you?"

"He…he lashed out. Backed me against a wall. Probably tore a hole in it."

I watch Captain America's face as he scans Black Widow's.

"What did he say?"

After a pause, the assassin responds. "Clint knows that– because of where I was trained… He knows I'll never have kids. I never thought that he'd use the knowledge against me." More tears flow from her eyes.

Captain America waits for a couple of seconds before rising from the bed. "Grief can make us do a lot of things. Usually things that we regret. That grief can surface as many different emotions. Like anger." Pain shines in his gaze and his brow furrows as if prompted by an agonizing memory.

Black Widow lifts her head, sniffing.

"You know what I'm referring to, Natasha. I know you do."

"What's Tony got to do with this?"

"There's one similarity between Tony's grief back then and Clint's grief now. It's showing itself through anger. Whether that rage is violent or verbal, short-lived or drawn-out, depends on the situation, but Clint's mourning is directed toward the same kind of people. Family."

"Tony never really got over it. Did you see how he shook your hand during the Avengers meeting? He was stiff as a doornail."

"That's not my point. My point is that Tony got through his grief because others were there to support him."

"You're saying I should stay?"

"Natasha, what you do from here on out is completely up to you. You can come with us, or you can stay. What I'm saying is that maybe we all should try to help him. Every once and a while, one of us can sit with him and just talk. Clint probably won't take any advice in his state, but if it'll help, even in the slightest, to share our own experiences with grief, then maybe Clint will wake up."

"This isn't going to be easy, Steve."

"It's not, you're right. Each of us has endured grief in a different way. To offer Clint as many ways of recuperation as we can shouldn't have any hazards. What'd you say?"

"We can try it. But I won't be any help."

"What do you mean?"

"I've…I've never really lost anybody. Not to the extent of severe grief."

"Nick– ."

"Is alive and breathing, Steve. That didn't count."

"But– ."

Black Widow leaps from the bed, gritting her teeth. "I don't know what it feels like to lose family!" She blinks rapidly as her eyes well up again. "Until now." Pushing past Cap, she tromps through the doorway. "What time are you leaving?"

"What?"

"Tomorrow. You and Bucky. When?"

"Noon."

"Good. I'll meet you in the road."

"Natasha…think about what I said, all right?"

Black Widow dips her head, tapping a foot on the ground. "I'll be there."

"Take care, Natasha."

After a few minutes of silence tell me that the conversation is done, I slip out as quietly as I'd come, returning to the guest room and blowing up to normal size.

Wow. Wasn't that intense.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Yaaay! I kinda like going into Scott's mind when I actually know what I'm doing. It was hard to write the beginning of this chapter because I wasn't really into it, but then it got better, as you can probably see from the difference in sentence structure and word choice in the middle of the chapter.

Read and review!


	22. Chapter Twenty-One - Buried Rivalries

Okay, yes, I changed the name again. I didn't really like the name One Chance, so I changed it to Breaking Point and I really really like this new name.

AND, I finished the MCU! Finally! Also, my four favorite characters have switched a little bit. I've been thinking hard about the MCU characters and now the top four are (4) Sam Wilson, (3) Steve Rogers, (2) Clint Barton, and (1) Bucky. That doesn't mean that the "sections" I've been talking about will change. I don't plan on changing anything in the book thus far because of the change in my ranking. Steve, Sam, and Natasha are already having a lot more involvement in the story than other characters because they are friends with my top two favorites. I still love Loki and Peter to pieces.

ANYWAY...

This is probably one of my favorite chapters, IF NOT my favorite chapter yet! Tony and Steve... Will you ever make up?

According to this chapter, apparently not. I had a lot of trouble nailing the emotion in this chapter, but I eventually got it the way I wanted and this chapter is a pretty good length! I made an effort to make longer paragraphs at certain times to lengthen the chapter, and I think it worked! Also, I've explored fatherly-Tony, worried-Tony...but NEVER have I delved into mechanic-Tony until now. :)

GEEZ THOSE STEVE AND TONY FEELS AM I RIGHT~

Sometimes I read this chapter in my own time and flip out because I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One - Buried Rivalries

"Jarvis, fire up the grill. Let's cook something good." I snap my fingers and the bulbs circling the ceiling bathe the workplace with light.

Holograms linger on the edges of the vast, cluttered room, their empty screens begging for use. Suits raveled in gold titanium line the area. Transparent caskets off to the side reveal additional suits, each plated with various metallic visuals and numbered in the hundreds.

I clap twice. "J, activate holograms one through twelve."

"Of course, sir."

The absence of paperwork or keyboards tempt a euphoric grin as my light steps carry me to greet my first game-changer. Mark II. Freeing the metal beast from its grave, I slip into the masterpiece and walk it to the middle of the room. My feet carry me out of the suit and a few steps away. "Jarvis, activate sentry mode. Display mechanics on holograms thirteen through twenty." All at once, the dark arrays explode with diagrams and graphics of Mark II, spiraling around me in a dizzy collection of holographic blues.

A mechanic's playhouse.

"Jarvis? Think I can spare a roll of the dice?"

"Run as far you want, sir."

"It's gonna be one heck of a marathon. You with me?"

"At your service."

The familiar pride of creation takes hold and embeds itself deeper than my reactor. My ACDC music blasts through the fizz of sparks on metal. Only my intense focus stops the smile from accompanying the entire session. Hours click by, and every minute is golden. Nothing can disturb me when I'm locked in my technical state. Along the way, my shirt comes off, ripped from my chest with sweaty hands and uncovering the arc reactor– my glowing, mechanical heart. Sure, the shiny invention's been rebuilt and remade plenty of times, much like myself, but every period in a workshop craze robs me of time. No one's come to visit to my delight and simultaneous chagrin, but the clock's hands zoom by as I labor through the morning on multiple projects. Five hours later, I step back from my largest workstation, admiring my finished products with hands on my hips. I'm drenched in sweat, exhausted, and hurting, however, none of that means anything to me. This shop is where my babies are from. Nothing beats having a brand new invention before my eyes, let alone more than one. More than two. Shining on the table are three pieces of silver art. High-tech bandages for Barton, a mask for my suits, and a tracking missile with heat signature sensors to add to Mark II's roster of explosives.

I wipe my rough hands with a towel and breath in the sharp smell of grease and smoke. Whether that scent's coming from my workplace or me doesn't matter. Another job done.

"Amazing job, sir."

"Look at 'em. Who made all this? Come on, tell me, Jarvis."

"You did, sir."

"Right. This…Tony Stark. What a guy. What a legend." Tossing the towel over my shoulder, I lean on the desk with a smirk. "I'm a legend."

"Are you capable of separating your ego from your mind long enough for me to inform you?"

I jump to attention at the sudden voice, whipping around until my startled gaze lands on the figure at the door. Steve. My pulse kicks up a notch and I go rigid as he strides into the room. "Inform me of what?" I fight to keep any hint of bitterness from my voice as the captain approaches me.

"We're leaving. Nat, Bucky, and I."

Stroking the towel at my shoulder in a nervous habit, I nod, wetting my lips. "Remind me– where're you off to?"

"Brooklyn. Gone for a week."

I clear my throat, rubbing my palms on my trousers. My scalp prickles and a sinking unease boils in my stomach. If only Steve's presence can summon this much anxiety in me, what happens when both of us remember the same moment? That fateful day. That terrible, fateful day. Jerking myself from the flashbacks, I turn away, clutching my shirt in my fists. "Gone for a week, huh? Good for me. Maybe it'll be a little less righteous around here."

"Promise me you won't lock yourself in here and forget about the rest of the team?"

"Can't promise anything, Poster Boy."

Steve chuckles. "Haven't heard that one in a while."

I crack my knuckles, hurling my shirt onto a chair. "Yeah. Yep. Been a while, hasn't it?"

"Indeed it has… Maybe too long."

Sparing a glance over my shoulder, I note Steve approaching Mark II and bite my tongue against a river of colorful phrases. With every step, Rogers draws closer to my machine and my heartbeat skyrockets. He lays his palm on the chest plate and my limps lock in place. The last time the two had made contact, those scarred hands had been fists, swinging with a fierce, blind desperation to save his childhood friend. I can still feel the power behind each blow. The pain, the heartbreak, the rage. The blood. The wild eyes of a man I'd once trusted. My arc reactor, shattered, just like the divide in our faith in each other. The flashbacks are still all too clear, arriving in night and day alike alongside the menacing screams of my parents.

"How's this old thing doing?"

Jolted from my rumination, I notice Steve observing the worn suit with two hands now, patting the piece of tech as if it were an old friend.

Old friend indeed. More like old enemy.

I struggle to steady my voice as I respond. "You know, it's a bit banged up, but she'll manage as long as her dad's here to fix her." My heart skips a beat as Steve knocks a knuckle gently on the mask. Rewind a year and a half. That knuckle's got a whole barricade of stubbornness behind it, curling it into a fist and smashing it against the mask. There's no grave big enough for the trust we'd thrown away that day. Countless nights of terrifying scenes and reliving that moment over and over again, each time worse than the last, have convinced me that not even the longest interval can bring us together again.

How can anything mend such a chasm? Wounds fade. Scars don't.

"So, what have you been hard at work making?" Steve switches his attention to the table holding my newest creations.

Rolling my shoulders, I stop myself from facing him. "Bandages. Missile. Mask."

"It sure took a good few hours. Glad to see you're hard at work again, Tony."

"Excuse me, but weren't you just asking me to _not_ spend hours upon hours in here?"

"Depends on perspective. I don't want you to hide away and forget about your duty to the Avengers, but I'm happy that you're settling into your mechanics again. There's nothing like going back to your roots."

 _Going back to your roots._ _Your past. Bucky. Winter Soldier._ I'm able to catch a grimace before it surfaces. _Of course he'd mention roots._

 _"_ _He's my friend."_

 _"_ _So was I."_

"How's Rhodey doing these days?"

I stiffen. Composing myself, I prompt a muted answer. "He's doing all right. Splendid, actually. He's been over seas on a government mission for a while now." The War Machine suit stands in the shadows, glaring at me from the darkness.

 _The Civil War. Captain America. Bucky Barnes. Everyone. Some people may have gotten out all right. For others, it left wounds. Paralyzation. Steve seemed to come out okay. Of course he did. But it cost me everything. Why?_

"That's a huge improvement from last I saw him. I'm glad he's okay. For a little while, it could've been serious."

Every breath drags out of a heavy chest. Sweat drips from my fingers, but I make no move for the towel. I can sense the blood draining from my face, leaving it as white as the snow in Siberia. I tear my eyes from the floor and latch them onto Steve, who's inspecting Mark II again. My pulse roars in my ears as the man who stands before me stalks around the machine he'd ripped apart. In an instant, I'm back in Siberia, bleeding onto the frozen ground as my parents' murderer and my biggest rival limp away. At my side is the broken mask and the shards of my arc reactor glisten on the bloody stone. The suit. The past. The friendships. The trust. How could everything have fallen so quickly, so brutally?

The memories keep coming, burning through my skull. Heat blooms in my chest, twisting upward and tingling in my throat.

 _"_ _It wasn't him, Tony. HYDRA had control of his mind!"_

 _"_ _This isn't gonna change what happened."_

 _"_ _I don't care. He killed my mom."_

Pivoting, I run my trembling hands through my hair, squeezing my eyes shut.

 _"_ _He's my friend."_

I dig the flip phone out of my pocket, blinking at the device with clenched teeth.

 _"_ _So was I."_

The phone crushes in my grip and blood trickles from my fist.

"Tony, I'm– ."

The heat explodes and I whirl around. "Would it kill you to leave?"

Steve stops mid-sentence, his eyes darkening.

I stomp toward him. "Huh? Would it? If I force you to leave me alone, will you just drop dead, or do you enjoy giving me a hard time?"

Steve stares at me, his mouth thinning into a frown and his gaze digging into mine. "I thought there was still a chance."

"Of what?" I scoff. "Of me being able to look at you without seeing the blood? You better get with the program, captain, because even after a year and a half, the sight of you never ceases to remind me of Siberia." My veins steam under my skin.

"I believe there's a chance of alliance again, Tony. If you'd just– ."

"Alliance?" Laughing, I back away. "We fought a few enemies together and you call that alliance? We never had a bond, Old Man. Imagine it. Me, a legendary genius decked in titanium, becoming allies with the American Flag? Never happened. And it never will."

Steve, motionless, clenches his jaw, his shadowed gaze following me from under lowered eyebrows. A dark sheen of sweat glints on his crumpled brow. "You're right about one thing, Tony." The gravelly speech rumbles from his lungs. "We weren't allies. We were friends. Yes, while we did disagree many, _many_ times, it doesn't change the fact that we fought together. We shared a battlefield. We were brothers in arms– _partners in war_ , Tony. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"I won't deny that we did a lot together, Cap. I know we did. But guess what?" I throw my towel to the ground. Shaking, I flex my fingers and glare at him. "Both of our legacies fell the day of our division. We didn't fall together, we fell separately. So you'd better head back into that icy sleep of yours and wake up when you finally understand that the chance of ever forming another friendship with you broke with my reactor the moment you slammed your shield into it."

Steve's breathing is hoarse and shallow, his pupils dilating as they scrape across my infuriated expression. While the captain's low voice usually rings loud and determined, what now exits from the blocked throat is choked with memory. "You know why I did it, Tony."

"Do I? Do I know why you nearly beat me to death to protect your- your _friend_? His hands are gushing red. He'll never escape the terror. You know how many people would want to shove a bullet through his heart? Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands, even. I'll bet a crowd would gather just to see him writhing on the pavement, blood spilling from every vein." Steve withdraws, shuddering, but I close in. "Your friend isn't worth all of the work you constantly put in. The blood on his hands? It's still there, staining everything he touches. And one day, maybe very soon, HYDRA will return and drag Barnes away, experimenting on him until his life hangs by a thread, then sending him off into the brutal world with a ravenous hunger to kill, and every assassination will darken the scarlet on his fingers."

"Mr. Stark, sir, someone's– ."

"Shut up, Jarvis!" I lunge forward, seizing Steve's collar and yanking him toward me. "You can't save him, Steve." A fire burns in my chest as Barnes' gruesome face invades my memories. My parents, beaten and bloody. The disgusting, nonchalant expression while Barnes chokes the life out of my own mother. The road. The glazed eyes. The look of death.

 _December sixteenth, nineteen-ninety one._

"He's bound to fall. And when he does, he'll have sunk too far for your reach and he'll slip away from you, one Russian word at a time, until all that's left are empty eyes."

"S-Steve?"

I snap my head to the side.

In the doorway. Barnes.

Uncurling my fingers from Steve's shirt, I drop my grip as my _brother in arms_ retreats a few steps.

"What is it, Buck?"

Silence. Heavy breathing.

"Bucky. What's going on?"

"Natasha and I. We're ready." The soldier wears a paled expression, his metal grip on the wall tightening.

"Good." Steve makes no hesitation to join Bucky.

More flashbacks pierce my conscious.

 _"_ _Did you know?"_

 _"_ _Yes."_

One last statement bursts out of me. "You know, Rogers, sometimes my teammates don't tell me things."

Steve halts in the doorway, his body quivering.

One second. Two. Three. Four.

"This isn't you, Tony." He throws me a sidelong glance. "Talk with Pepper. And Happy. Catch up with them. Host some parties and get drunk for all I care. But you'd better be dang sober the next time I see you. Wait a week. Then we'll talk."

The two friends flee into the hallway and door slams behind them.

I'm gasping, my heart raging in my ribcage. "Jarvis. Lights out."

Darkness surrounds me as I slump against a desk, sliding to the floor and gripping my head in my hands.

 _You'd better run, Rogers. You'd better run…_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Yes, Steve was able to escape Civil War with his shield and Bucky with his arm. I don't have an explanation, but I just want those two aspects to be present.

UGH I LOVE THIS CHAPTER SO MUCH! With how long the book is currently, this still remains one my favorite chapters of this entire book so far. STEVE AND TONY PLEASE HAVE A TENSE/EMOTIONAL REUNION IN ENDGAME

Read and review!


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two - The Good Days

Back again with another chapter! I _was_ going to think about doing a Falcon, Vision/Wanda, or Thor chapter for this one, but I decided that I wanted immediately to get into Steve's head after the argument. I had a lot of fun writing this. There are some fun and not so fun flashbacks, genuine conversations between Bucky and Steve, and a whole lot more!

I'll have to really think about the next chapter. It'll probably be a Vision/Wanda chapter because I haven't focused on them since their chapter where Tony called them (Scarlet Visions), but IDK. We shall see!

I hope you enjoy the twenty-second installment of Breaking Point!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two - The Good Days

I grab Bucky's arm. "Let's go."

"Steve, what– ?"

"Let's go, Buck." The words hiss from clamped teeth.

Everything is a blur as I pull Bucky along, obsessed with the images and noises of the recent argument. I don't even stop to say goodbye to any of the others before I urge Bucky and Natasha into the Toyota and speed off onto the roads. For the next hour, I do everything to distract myself. Music, conversations, audiobooks, podcasts, everything. Still it torments me. Tony's words sting harder than any punch.

 _"_ _Both of our legacies fell the day of our division."_

 _"So you'd better head back into that icy sleep of yours and wake up when you finally understand that the chance of ever forming another friendship with you broke with my reactor the moment you slammed your shield into it."_

I almost flinch as the lines echo in my skull.

 _"_ _You know, Rogers, sometimes my teammates don't tell me things."_

Tony had used my own words against me. During the time of Ultron, I had uttered the exact same thing to him during our stay at Barton's farm. Little had he known, I'd been hiding the biggest secret of all my years. Had I protected anyone by keeping that from Tony? No. Not one person. Tony'd gotten hurt. So had Bucky. I'd saved no one but myself. But… I hadn't. Not really.

Time. Whoever said time can heal wounds lied. I'd climbed out of the ice with more than a few memories to give me nightmares, and they still haunt me. The nightly terrors of Siberia had begun to recede, but after today, I guess I can count on the bloody scenes returning. After the government had let us go… After I'd sent that letter to Tony… After he'd called using the phone that I gave him… I'd thought there was a chance. I'd known that stepping into Tony's workshop had been risky. Everything about the two of us is a risk. But if risk's not my middle name, then I don't know what is. I'd spoken to Tony on the phone with hope. Driven to the compound with hope. Shook Tony's hand with hope. Ever since that ringtone had buzzed through my kitchen, a faint spark had risen in my chest, one that had melted the ice around my heart and mind and burned away the dark walls closing off Siberia's memories. That spark had grown, ascending into a wildfire and arching in my being. The flames had brushed my super-powered muscles, lacing into every vein. That blaze had compelled me into the decision of attempting to reinitiate the alliance that Tony and I'd had so long ago.

I flick on my turn signal and shift into the slow lane. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, a mental battle consumes my head.

 _"_ _I thought there was still a chance."_

 _"_ _Of what? Of me being able to look at you without seeing the blood? You better get with the program, captain, because even after a year and a half, the sight of you never ceases to remind me of Siberia."_

I grit my teeth until my jaws ache.

 _"_ _You know how many people would want to shove a bullet through his heart? Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands, even."_

My hands curl around the wheel and turn white.

 _"_ _He's bound to fall. And when he does, he'll have sunk too far for your reach and he'll slip away from you, one Russian word at a time, until all that's left are empty eyes."_

I wrench the wheel sideways, swerving into the shoulder of the road. The Toyota screeches to a halt and I slump in the seat, covering my face with my hands.

Memories flash through my conscious, reopening the wound of the past that had just begun to heal. Fresh lifeblood pours in my mind's eye, dousing my history in scarlet regret. In an instant, I'm back in Siberia, screaming at Bucky to run as a pair of shining eyes break through the smoke. Those metal limbs had served one purpose that night– to strike the Winter Soldier down for crimes that weren't his. They'd been HYDRA's. And the pain in Tony's eyes as he'd grabbed me pierces like a lightning strike. The past. The friendships. The trust. How could everything have fallen so quickly, so brutally?

Seconds tick into minutes.

I sit motionless in the despairing position, my mind running at one hundred miles per hour and spinning with bursts of memory.

 _Bucky. The Winter Soldier. HYDRA. Everything. Why? Why Tony, why us, why me, why…Bucky? Why him? HYDRA, Bucky, Tony's parents, it's all connected. HYDRA brainwashed Bucky, he killed Howard and Maria, I found out, kept the secret, and Tony experiences the pain of my decision. It's not– ._

The car door's pulled open and a hand on my back tugs me from my thoughts.

"Steve."

The raspy voice. Natasha. I lower my arms, but don't meet her eyes.

"Come on, get out." The touch returns. "Take my seat. I'll drive. You're clearly occupied." Natasha ushers me out of the driver's seat and I collapse in her former place.

Sighing, I hunch down and secure my seatbelt. In the corner of my vision, I note Bucky glancing quickly back at me with worried eyes.

"Steve– ."

"Leave it, Bucky. I'm fine."

"Stop lying."

"I don't want to talk about it." I clench my fists.

"Something happened. I want to know." Bucky reaches back and nudges my knee.

"But I don't."

"Don't what?"

"I don't want you to know."

"I heard part of it."

I raise my head. "So you know what happened."

"To some extent."

"Then why are you hassling me?"

"I want it from your own mouth."

"Why?"

Bucky pauses. After a few moments, he continues. "I know you don't like it, but you'd best get it out. You were the one who taught me that keeping feelings to myself can't lead to anything good."

I wince.

"Your wisdom, not mine, pal."

I consider his side, agree to it, then launch into the grim account.

* * *

The fading twilight descends into the familiar bedroom as nighttime draws near. Natasha, Bucky, and I had arrived to find the house spotless, as always. Leave it to me to keep up a good routine. We'd spent the rest of the day discussing what the week was going to provide, with all of us giving fruitful suggestions. The bar, playing pool, exercise, HYDRA research, trips to the market, games at home, it's all there. And we'll end it off with the anticipated museum visit. I flop onto the bed, gazing out of the window at the twinkling skies. One look at the clock triggers a groan. Midnight. Great.

I'd tried to sleep. Tossed and turned for hours before I gave up. Resorted to contemplation and some late night jogging out in the nearby park. I've been in Siberia the entire day, unable to escape from the gory images intwined with the Winter Soldier's crime.

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I make a move toward my shield leaning on the wall, but stop short at my dresser. The mirror's tilted slightly forward, warping the reflection. The bending glass alters my shape, and what gapes back at me isn't Captain America from World War II.

It's Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, that kid who was too dumb to run away from a fight. Short. Scrawny. Stubborn.

Light at the window. A sound. Guns. I duck down with a grunt, grabbing my shield. Heart racing, nerves jittering, I dive for the window, peering out at the cityscape.

Nothing. Just car lights and a trashcan on its side.

Cursing myself, I back up, letting my shield clatter to the floor. _Ever since World War II… I think nothing but guns and bloodshed._

A knock on the door sounds and I kick my shield under my bed, muttering a muffled "come in." The door creaks open and Bucky slips into the room. Surrendering to a genuine chuckle, I greet him with a nod. "Hey."

"Hey. Couldn't sleep?"

"Nope. You?"

"Not much."

"Nightmares?"

Bucky shook his head. "I was worried about you." He pulls up a chair from the corner.

I raise my eyebrows. "Me?"

The soldier frowns. "Yes, you. Why is that– ?"

"You shouldn't waste time worrying about me."

Bucky groans. "God, Steve, why is that hard to believe at all? Our bond from nineteen-forty-five isn't _gone_ , it's just…different."

Sighing, I hang my head, pondering his statement. _Different._ My heart aches at the word. Struck with a idea, I move in front of the mirror, taking on the image from the past. "Hey, Buck. Come here."

He stands. "That mirror's pretty busted. You should probably…" His speech trails off, eyes trained on my deformed body.

"You see that?"

"Steve, that's…that's… It's just like nineteen-forty-five."

"I know." I point my chin at the mirror. "What can you remember? Because of that?"

Bucky's pupils shake and he squints at my reflection. An agonizing group of minutes occur in the dark. Finally, Bucky grimaces and breaks eye contact, leaning on the dresser with a moan.

Extending an arm, I pat his shoulder. "Buck?"

"I'm…I'm sorry, Steve…" My friend rubs his face with a rough hand. "I-I really don't remember anything from back then…"

Pain strikes me and I suppress a sigh. What little hope I'd had shrivels at the sight of my disheartened friend.

"Even with all the work we've done with my memory since the Civil War, I…" Bucky stumbles back and falls into the chair, massaging his temples. "I still can't seem to clearly remember anything. When I do have a memory, it's barely there. Turns up for a few seconds, then leaves before I have the chance to write it down."

I tighten my lips, fighting for the right words. The last thing I want to do is discourage him further, but silence will only bring bad memories. I take a seat on my bed. "Is there…anything at all that you remember about your past?"

Bucky grits his teeth. "Yeah." The bitter word cuts through the quiet as he lifts his metal arm to his face. "HYDRA. Everything's HYDRA."

I blink sudden tears away, fire rising in my chest at the tortuous memories dancing on Bucky's face. Once again, I'm reminded of how unfair Bucky's life is. He'd been just another strong man in that time period, willing to risk everything to fight for his country. And right when the odds had seemed to be on our side, Bucky had been ripped away from me and hasn't come back since. While, yes, Bucky's not exactly under HYDRA's control anymore, the memories and feeling are still there. Even after everything we've worked on together since the Civil War, the Bucky I had in nineteen-forty-five isn't the same Bucky that rests, defeated, before me. He's never truly come back, and both of us know it. Any memory of his time before HYDRA is gone aside from a few tiny moments here and there.

"I _do_ remember…"

I jerk my head up.

"…calling you… _stupid_ a lot."

I force down a laugh. "I remember that too. And it wasn't just stupid, but many other things." My cheeks lift slightly as a pleasant memory intrudes.

 _Bucky nudges my shoulder. "Come on, you're kind of missing the point of a double date. We're taking the girls dancing."_

 _I follow him to the stairs. "You go ahead. I'll catch up with you."_

 _Bucky's face falls. "You really gonna do this again?"_

 _I shrug. "Well, it's a fair. I'm gonna try my luck."_

 _"_ _As who? Steve from Ohio? They'll catch you. Or worse, they'll actually take you."_

 _Scanning his hard features, I exhale. "Look, I know you don't think I can do this."_

 _Bucky bristles. "This isn't a back alley, Steve, it's war!"_

 _"_ _I know it's a war. You don't have to tell me."_

 _"_ _Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs."_

 _"_ _What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal– ."_

 _"_ _YES!"_

 _"–_ _in my little red wagon– ?"_

 _"_ _Why not?"_

 _"_ _I'm not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky."_

 _"_ _I don't– ."_

 _"_ _Bucky! Come on. There are men laying down their lives."_

 _Bucky backs down, listening._

 _"_ _I've got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."_

 _"_ _Right." He nods. "'Cause you got nothing to prove."_

 _I shove my hands in my pockets, averting my gaze as the two girls holler from a distance._

 _"_ _Hey, Sarge! Are we going dancing?"_

 _I hear Bucky proclaim, "Yes, we are!" and turn to me._

 _"_ _Don't do anything stupid until I get back."_

 _Watching him back up, I play off of his request. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."_

 _His stern facade yields to soft affection as he pauses, grins, and struts back to me, wrapping his arms around my skinny frame._

"You're a punk."

I jolt myself from the recollection as Bucky's real voice overlaps the line in the memory.

We stare at each other for a few seconds before I respond, gaping.

"Bucky, you…you remembered something!"

A shy smirk slides across his face. "I guess I did. Of course, what I remember is me insulting you."

"Good-naturedly."

"What?"

"I wanted to get into the army again, but you found out, trying to convince me to do otherwise. We were on a double date. Do you remember that?" I observe Bucky eagerly.

The soldier closes his eyes. "Was that the day you got beat up by the man from the theater? In the alley?"

I dip my head, relief coursing through me. "Yeah, Buck. That was the day."

Bucky lets out a tired chuckle. "Those were the days."

"The good days."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I LOVE WRITING THEIR CONVERSATIONS SO MUCH. SO. MUCH.

Read and review!


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three - Sensing the Story

FINALLY another chapter! Sorry it's been so long– I've just never really had the time, and when I have, I'm doing other things. Enthusiasm hasn't been that high either, but hopefully it's greater now. :D I hope that this makes me more excited to write more often from here on out.

Aaaaaaand...

Welcome back to another chapter, Ned!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three - Sensing the Story

By the time Ned meets me by the front door of the compound, his entire persona is buzzing with jitters. Skipping up to me, he tosses his bag over his shoulder, a huge smile plastered onto his face.

"Peter, dude, I've got so many things to tell you! School's been crazy without you, but I know that you're probably having a blast with the Avengers– ."

"Ned, slow down." I cross my arms.

His hands quake as they smooth his wrinkled shirt. "I know, I know… I'm sorry, I'm just– ."

"Excited. I get it. So was I, but the mood quickly dropped, as you learned already."

"You're keeping your promise, though, right? You can't back down on me now, not after I've been looking forward to this for three weeks."

"Are you kidding? It would take a global catastrophe to stop me. I'm giving you a grand tour of the entire compound." I nudge him through the doors.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Parker and Mr. Leeds." Jarvis's cheerful voice heightens our spirits upon entry.

"So, Ned, where would you like to start?"

"Let's just wander. I want to see everything and really appreciate it." His starstruck eyes skim along every wall. Without warning, he whips around to face me and grabs my shoulders.

"Hey, what– ?"

"Can I see the Iron Man suit?"

Open-mouthed, I hold his gaze. "Um…maybe? I can't promise that we'll see any suits today, or even the Avengers themselves. Most of them are occupied in their own quarters, training, or working. Besides, Mr. Stark's been in his workshop all morning. I doubt he'll let us come in."

"He'll let _you_ in. He likes you."

"Just don't count on it, okay?"

Muttering a muted response into his jacket, Ned withdraws, sighing.

Biting my lip, I recall a dream of his that he'd shared with me when my secret identity had been revealed to him.

 _"_ _If I ever get to meet even_ one _Avenger, my life will be made. I'd probably drop dead if I met Captain America for real."_

Yearning for the familiar light in Ned's eyes, I seal a decision in my head. "Ned, I promise you that we'll see an Avenger today. Maybe even more than one. I swear it."

Ned's elated energy returns tenfold.

* * *

My friend's rapid comments about the technology and architecture fade as we round a corner and spot a muscled silhouette against a wall of glass. Beyond, two figures hurl attacks toward opposite sides of a giant room, one firing a yellow laser and the other flicking spirals of red from her hands. The training room.

Ned gasps. "Peter, is that…?"

"Captain America, Scarlet Witch, and Vision." Before my schoolmate has the time to swoon, I pull him to up to the glass doors, pointing out Vision's slight phasing in-between moves. Scarlet Witch's hands blur together as the color emitting from her fingertips obscures all detail. With my palms stretched out the wall and my Stark-tech gloves on, the hum of magic reaches my senses and tingles under my skin.

"Good morning, Parker."

I jump at the captain's voice, twisting around. "Oh, uh… Hello! I-I mean– good afternoon– morning." I bow, mentally slap myself, then salute. I'm left with a burning in my cheeks and a sinking embarrassment as I discern both Ned and _the_ Captain America watching me with amused expressions.

The captain chuckles, giving me a warm smile. "More confident on the battlefield, I take it?"

I nod, scratching the back of my head.

"That's okay. You're not the only one who mixed up their words at the sight of me. You and Mr. Lang would get along well."

Glancing back, I poke Ned in front of me.

His eyes widen. "C-Captain America?"

"And I assume you're Mr. Parker's friend? The one I've seen around here every so often?"

As they carry on a fumbling conversation, I blink into the training room as Vision and Scarlet Witch finish their rounds. The two of them approach each other, their mouths moving in a silent discussion. Scarlet Witch passes her hand over Vision's yellow stone, her palm glowing red. The android shuts his eyes and grimaces.

The hairs on my arm spike upward as the magic swirls around Vision's forehead. Sweat collects on my brow and my breathing speeds up. My limbs tremble. Eyes switching from one hand to the other, I fight my confusion and tiptoe into the training room. I shorten my stride. _I don't want to seem pushy, but something about that stone is making the gloves channel my senses._ Walking up to the two Avengers is harder than I thought I would be. The notion that these legendary heroes have endured battle after battle and risked their lives countless times for the world compared to my downgraded skirmish in Brooklyn almost makes me flip my decision. I push myself a few more feet toward them and Vision announces my arrival with a nod.

"Greetings, Peter."

Scarlet Witch whirls around and her crimson eyes soften to a dull green.

My hair stands on end at her curious gaze. "H-Hello."

"You're…Spiderman. Peter Parker." She lends a gentle smile. "I don't think we've met."

"I-I saw you in the fight. In Berlin."

"You saw a lot of the Avengers in that battle. It's time to introduce myself officially. I'm Wanda Maximoff."

I peer over my shoulder. Ned and Captain America still chat away behind the doors.

"Nervous, Mr. Parker? There is no need to be. You are in the presence of friends." Vision hovers closer.

"Uh– Vision…" I turn to him. "Is-is it true that you can shoot lasers from your stone?" I grit my teeth. _Stupid question, Peter._

"Yes. Its power is great and even I can't control it all the time." The android tilts his head at me. "And am I correct in assuming that you did not come to us to merely gossip about my stone? You have a deeper reason."

I launch into my true aim. "Vision, I…uh…I was wondering if I could maybe…touch your stone? With these gloves– ," I hold them up, "I may be able to sense something."

Wanda's face crumples into suspicion and she squints at me. "Sense? What do you mean?"

"I don't have my spider senses anymore, as you may have heard, but…but Mr. Stark made me these gloves. They bring one of the senses back to the level I'm used to. It's-it's confusing, I know, but while I was out there…" I gesture to the hallway, "I felt something. I can't explain it."

Before Scarlet Witch has a chance to respond, Vision allows me permission and, a few seconds later, I'm lifting my arm and resting a hand on the gem.

My fingers make contact and sensory input floods in. A surge of terror mounts within me as a buzzing racket grinds in my skull. The effect races through my blood and heat streams in my veins.

 _Danger. Danger. Danger._

I jump back with a cry, hands quivering.

Scarlet Witch pounces into the situation. "What?"

Ned and Captain America join us, both their expressions requesting confirmation.

While Vision's attention remains on me, a greeting still exits. "Ah, Captain Rogers."

"What's going on?"

Panting, I rub the minimal vibranium on the back of the gloves and chew on my lip as the smooth surface soothes my pounding heart. "I felt…danger."

Scarlet Witch purses her lips and her eyes dart nervously between Vision and I. "What kind of danger?"

"I don't know. I'm not even certain what it was exactly that's dangerous. It was just so strong."

Vision massages his forehead. "I, too, have been feeling strange sensations from the stone."

Captain America folds his arms over his chest. "So what are we going to do? I can't do anything about this right now because I'm leaving for Brooklyn soon."

Scarlet Witch shrugs, her body still rigid. "Thor seemed to know a bit about the stones. He called them Infinity Stones. Vision and I will talk to him. I'll also warn Fury."

The captain shakes his head. "Warn him about what? We're not even sure what's going on with these stones. Don't you think it'd be best not to rile the team up regarding something we know so little about? We're already on our guard about HYDRA and Vulture. Until we know more, let's keep silent."

Sighing, Vision and Scarlet Witch mutter a few quick farewells and leave Ned and I alone in the training room.

"Peter, uh…"

"I know, I know. We'll finish the tour." I drag him toward the double doors.

"No, I– that's not what I'm– I don't want to finish the tour."

I release his shirt and gape at him. Could this truly be the same fanatic that zipped up to me at the front of the compound? "Are you serious? We've been talking about this for weeks. Why would you– ."

"Dude, I want to see Hawkeye."

My jaw drops. "Not a good idea, man. I don't know how he is. I haven't even been to see him yet."

"All the more reason we should go." We start walking amid conversation. "He's an Avenger. You guys know each other."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on. We do _not_ know each other. I've never even talked to him before."

Ned cocks an eyebrow.

"I'm not joking. I only ever saw him fight from a distance and watched some his avenging acts on TV." A painful jab in my heart slows my pace. _Whenever I've asked anybody about how he's doing…I've gotten nothing but negative comments._ "Never mind, you're right. Let's go."

Ned doesn't ask about the surroundings as we weave through the floors to Hawkeye's quarters. Fist raised, stomach heavy, I stand, inches from the door.

Ned's whisper tickles in my ear. "What's wrong?"

"I've never seen him be anything but strong and outspoken. It's rare to see an Avenger defeated. I'm afraid of what I'll see."

My friend shrugs. "That reminds me of when Flash failed that test in Algebra. He's always so full of himself and acts like he's the most important kid in the whole school. He got a C and wouldn't talk to anyone the rest of the day. Somewhere, I heard that he shoved this kid inside a locker for making fun of his low score."

I stare at him with eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"Really, Ned? Not the time." Sucking in a fierce breath, I rap my knuckles on the door and hear nothing but silence on the other side. The door yanks open and a distressed Mr. Banner pokes his head out.

His furrowed brow loosens when he spots us and he herds us in, closing the door with a soft click. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he shuffles around the room, fixing blankets and tidying medical supplies as Ned and I hover awkwardly beside the entry.

My eyes linger over to a motionless figure in the bed. _Hawkeye._ I creep to his side, recognizing feature after haggard feature. His pale appearance. Red eyes circled in black. A sunken face, twisted in a sleeping reality. His bare legs dotted with torn, half-healed scabs. Memories of him fighting on a TV screen flash through my conscious.

"You came to see Clint, I suppose?" Mr. Banner jerks me from my analysis.

I dip my head, my hands wringing together. "How is he?"

The scientist sighs, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "He's been showing signs of depression. Hypersomnia, lack of appetite, unresponsiveness…"

Perching on the edge of the bed, I squint at a picture of a woman and three children with Hawkeye by their sides. My frown deepens. "So…Hawkeye really lost his entire family?"

Mr. Banner wanders around the mattress. "Unfortunately, yes." He stops, as if struck with a sudden idea, and points at Ned. "You, uh…Ned?"

"Y-yes, sir?"

"Do you know where Tony's workshop is?"

"Tony Stark?"

"Yes, do you know where his workshop is?"

I raise my hand. "I can tell him."

"Good. Ned, do you– would you mind doing me a quick favor? Tony's been working all morning in there. One of the things he was going to make were high-tech bandages for Clint's ribs. Could you head over there and see if he's finished them?"

Ned bobs his head and I sputter a quick string of directions that send him on his way. Once my friend speeds out of the room, I focus my attention on Hawkeye until a thought pops to mind. "Mr. Banner…"

"Hmm?"

"Could you…tell me about him? Tell me about Hawkeye? I've only ever seen him on TV and, from another Avenger, there're sure to be some stories that I've never heard."

Mr. Banner chuckles. "Well, I'm probably the last person you should ask for stories, but I've got a few."

* * *

I sit, unmoving on the bed as the experiences pouring from Mr. Banner's mouth draw me into the avenging life.

"Of all of the arguments we've had, Clint hasn't been a part of a single one of them. It's been said around the compound that Clint was the one that held the Avengers together. We haven't broken yet, but there's always a crack in the bond somewhere."

Both of us whirl around as the door inches open. Ned slips in, sweating and panting.

"Um, Peter…"

"What's wrong, Ned?" I scurry to his side.

"Captain America and Tony Stark… Something's going wrong down there." He bites his lip. "They're arguing. Yelling at each other."

Mr. Banner's eyes bulge. "Oh no. This is bad…" He races out of the entrance, leaving Ned and I struggling to catch up. In minutes, we come upon a room surrounded entirely in white walls and transparent glass. Even without my heightened senses, the venom in Mr. Stark's voice and Captain America's dark tone make my stomach drop. A single, piercing line strikes my ears.

 _"_ _So you'd better head back into that icy sleep of yours and wake up when you finally understand that the chance of ever forming another friendship with you broke with my reactor the moment you slammed your shield into it."_

A cold stone fixes itself in the base of my stomach and I stumble blindly backward.

 _"_ _We haven't broken yet, but there's always a crack in the bond somewhere."_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Ooooooh always gotta put some foreshadowing in there. :D

Read and review! I love hearing what y'all think!


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four - Drunk on Legacy

Yaaaaayy! New chapter!

So I've been brainstorming A LOT for the future of the book and the conflicts, and the skeleton is complete for this next portion of the book! I've got some pretty exciting twists planned, so stick around... :)

This was a pretty fun chapter to write... I think you'll see why...

Not much to say here. Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four - Drunk on Legacy

Metal grinds on metal. Screams in the dark. Explosions of flame blooming in bloody, orange flowers. An arc reactor, beating, beating, beating, the annular skeleton of blue collapsing in on itself. The Iron Man helmet melts in a molten grave, and with it, my legacy.

The arc reactor. Again.

Heartbeat slow.

Slow. Slower. Gone.

"Tony!"

The nightmare shatters. I jolt upward with a cry, clambering from the bed as a shadowed figure reaches out to me.

"Tony, it's me! It's okay, it's me…" The moonlight from the window reveals Pepper's tense features.

I lower my arms that I had flung up upon instinct. My heart pounds with every wheezing gasp and my hands scramble feverishly at my chest. I relax in the slightest as the familiar circle of the arc reactor meets my fingers. I slam my eyes shut, skin tingling. "I-I'm sorry, Pep. I just– I can't– I…"

Pepper sits up and blinks at me, cocking her head. "You haven't a nightmare in a long time, Tony… What was this one about?"

Adrenaline races through my veins. My breath catches in my throat.

 _"Both of our legacies fell the day of our division. We didn't fall together, we fell separately."_

Pepper squints. "Tony? What was this dream about?"

"My legacy."

No one speaks.

"What?"

"My legacy. People were screaming. Metal was destroying metal. Blasts of fire around me. A cemetery of broken parts and…my arc reactor. Beating until nothing remained…"

Pepper slides from the bed and approaches me in tentative steps. She lays a thin hand on my sweaty shoulder. "Where did this come from? You haven't had any trouble recently, and then all of a sudden, _this_. Ever since Steve left today, you've been distant and…not you. What is it you're not telling me?"

I withdraw from her grip, moving to the closet and grabbing a button-down shirt from the rack. Dragging my eyes to the clock, I flinch. Four in the morning. "Cap and I had a talk before he left."

Pepper stares at me, dark realization dawning on her. "Oh-no, Tony… What did you say?"

The careful fastening of my flannel turns into vicious tugging that sends a button hurtling across the room. "What did _he_ say is the appropriate question." I give up on buttoning and rub a hand over my face. "Jarvis, get a few bottles of scotch ready– ."

"No, don't." Pepper stops my hands with her own. "Tony, please, we can work this out together. If we could just talk about it– ."

"You want me to yell at you?"

Pepper recoils, gasping at my sudden roar.

"Do you want me to yell at you?"

"No, but– !"

"Then let's not talk about it. Let's go the easy way out."

"Tony, don't do this. I'm not going to sit around and just _watch_ as you struggle in silence and drown yourself with alcohol! There are better ways to deal with this! You let me help you after the Civil War. You let Rhodey help you. You got over it– ."

"Pep, I didn't _get over it._ I was in pain every single day. To be honest, I don't know how I survived after the Civil War."

"You got help. You worked on softening the memories. You worked on getting past the truth."

I get to work straightening the damp sheets to distract myself.

"We can do that again. Maybe even better. Maybe this time…you can learn to let go– ."

I whip around. "You think I didn't try that? You think I didn't try to forget about Siberia? It's taken– I know what– I can't– ." My voice hitches on a lump blocking my throat. Blood boils in the veins bulging from my arms. I rip off the flannel, the next words as cold as steel. "It's been a year and half, Pep. If I haven't gotten over it by now, I never will." After a few agonizing seconds, I tromp out of the room and clap twice. "Jarvis, get me two bottles of scotch up and ready. Time to toast Cap's departure."

* * *

The next time I wake up, Tony's side of the bed is empty and the clock is blinking eight AM. It takes a few seconds for reality to make sense. The vacant sheets. The cracked closet. The door wide open. I jump to a sitting position. Tony. Oh my gosh, Tony… I scan the room. He's not here. The rock in my stomach drops lower when I recall his last remark before leaving. Scotch. Two bottles. A toast.

I kick my legs out from under the blanket and swing them over the edge, twirling my hair into a crude knot. I throw a mess of an outfit over my nightclothes and head out the door. "Jarvis, where's Tony?"

"Mr. Stark is in the bathroom near his workshop."

My mouth goes dry. Oh-no…

I rush to his workshop's bathroom to find Tony slumped against the wall in his suit, a glass of scotch clutched in his hand. His hair is a tangled mop and his face is drained of all color.

Fire boils in my lungs and I ram my fist against the door. "What are you _doing?_ "

Tony's head lolls to the side and he gives a drunken smirk. "Oh, hey, Pepper… Want to join me?" He lifts his glass to drink only to spill it over his suit. He bursts into giggles.

Gawking at him, I address our AI. "Jarvis, how long has he been in here?"

"Mr. Stark has been in the bathroom since four-thirty."

My body tenses and I fight to stay calm. "Tony, you've been in here for three and a half hours…?"

"Not that long, just…just…just… Y'know what, come on in here and we can have our own little party together."

"Tony, no. You need– ."

"Want a drink?" He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Stop."

"I've got some scotch left in my suit if you just– ."

"Your suit?" I cross my arms.

"No, I mean– I mean…the bottle."

"Tony, you need to come with me. You need to sleep this off, then we can talk about Steve– ."

Iron Man breaks into song.

Twenty minutes later, the hungover billionaire snores in the bedroom, stripped down to his undergarments. My temples ache as I stand by the bed, contemplating my options.

Bruce clears his throat from my side.

I whirl around, startled. "Oh, Bruce, I didn't see you. What are you doing here?"

"I-I wanted to ask Tony about his progress on the medical-tech equipment for Clint. But I heard you had some trouble this morning." He nods at Tony.

A groan drags from my throat. "I don't know what to do…"

"If you don't mind me asking– what happened?"

I hesitate. "Did you hear him and Steve arguing yesterday?"

Bruce shivers. "I did, yes."

"I haven't heard many of the details, but a nightmare woke Tony up this morning. We had an argument ourselves, and it ended with Tony leaving and saying something about toasting Steve's departure. When I got up this morning, I found him…" I gesture to the situation. "I just don't know what to do about this, Bruce. I want to focus his mind away from whatever he's struggling with, but I don't know how to do it. He's got other responsibilities now too. The Avengers are living in his home. He's a father figure and a mentor to Peter. He can't just retire and forget about everything else…"

"A party might help him to forget temporarily."

"No, no, no, that's the worst thing in this circumstance…"

"It'll stop him from thinking about it. Partying is one of his favorite things to do, right? And, since he wouldn't want Steve or Bucky anywhere, he'd be partying without them in the picture. We could book a game room in Queens and bring the Avengers together."

"But after this morning, he can't be near alcohol right now."

"It could be a party without drinking."

"Oh… I don't think it's a party to Tony without drinking."

Bruce shrugs. "We could see how long it lasts. Tony likes having fun. We could invite Rhodey if he has an opening from his mission over seas. It's worth a shot."

As the idea takes shape in my head, I surrender to a hopeful smile. "Yes, it is. Thank you, Bruce. That's what we'll do." I follow the scientist out of the room and leave the door open.

It's worth a shot.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Just in case anybody doesn't know, I have officially taken Rhodey out of the story. I haven't killed him or anything, but he was just kind of a drag to have in the story because he is one of my least favorite Avengers (I still like him tho, just not a ton) and I couldn't see a reason for him to be in my story aside from just being there. I decided to have him be MIA and he is over seas on a mission for the government. I also changed Tony's phone conversation partner in the Prologue from Happy to Rhodey because the dialogue fit Rhodey better and I want the readers to know in the very first chapter that Rhodey is gone. The dialogue in the prologue has been slightly altered because of this fact, so if you want to head over there and read what's new, go right ahead. It's also mentioned that Rhodey is over seas in Buried Rivalries. I think it's better for the story and more enjoyable for me. :) He _is_ going to be in the next chapter though for humor's sake.

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	26. Chapter Twenty-Five - Comedic Comfort

UGH this chapter was so fun to write! After all of the misery and sadness I've been throwing at the characters, I wanted to raise the mood a little by just having a feel-good chapter. :D I felt like I did pretty good with the humor, and it was so fun making Thor so clueless about so many things... xD

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five - Comedic Comfort

Cities flash past me. The repulsor power on my hands and feet blast me into the distance and colors spin around me as landscapes dart past with lightning speed. Regardless of my astonishing speed, the War Machine suit can't go fast enough for my taste. These past few months of missions, orders, and acting only when granted permission have worn me down, and I can't seem to speed up enough to satisfy my growing anticipation. I need time to really ignore the rules for once.

A contact pops into view on my heads-up display. _Tony._ I answer the call while scanning my surroundings for obstacles. "What's up, genius?"

"Ha ha, you know I love a little self-promotion."

I chuckle. Ahh, I'd forgotten how much I'd missed his egotistic comments. "A little? That's understating things."

"Where are you?"

"Close."

"Fantastic. You'll see the new compound soon if you're anywhere near Queens."

"I'm a little ways out, but with the speed of this thing, I'll be there in no time."

"Glad you could come out, buddy. The authorities didn't hammer all of the fun out of you?"

"I've been saving it all for a party just like this. Stack up those bottles, Tony. We'll be celebrating and raising glasses."

"Yeah, about that– ." Tony clears his throat.

"Oh-no, what did you do now?"

"Pep's keepin' a close watch on me. She's got the eyes of a hawk, let me tell you… Anytime I've tried to sneak even one glass of scotch or something, she takes it right out of my hands."

"What did you do?"

"What did _I_ do? What did _she_ – ."

"Tony."

"I might've gotten a bit hungover yesterday morning."

I roll my eyes. "My gosh, Tony– ."

"Quit hassling me, Rhodes. I don't need another person yelling in my ear every time I take a _look_ at alcohol."

"Let me guess. You're going to find some way to break the rules and distract Pepper so you can have a drink."

"Look, can't we argue about this later? Maybe after the party?"

"We can let it go for now, but as your babysitter, I'm bringing this up in conversation later."

"Babysitter? Take it down a notch, sour patch."

I emerge from the clouds to find the Avengers compound below, glistening in a gorgeous white. The marvelous upgrade smiles into the sky. I hover in the air and shake my head, laughing. _Dang, Tony, you really finalized this place._

"What's so funny?"

I shoot toward the top of the compound. "Oh, nothing, I'm just observing the scenery."

"Cityscapes? Boring. Got better things to look at. Just wait till you're here– you'll be blown away."

"Hopefully not blown out of the sky." I touch down on the roof, grinning to myself. "Wow, this scenery's spectacular."

"You really love cities that much? You didn't used to. That mission must've really been hard on you, pal."

I exhale in satisfaction. "Ah… It's good to be home."

"Yeah, nothing like… Wait, where are you?"

Tapping my foot on the smooth stone, I murmur through my speaker. "You know, from up here, you really need to repaint. The Avengers symbol looks a little bland from the roof."

A few seconds ensue, highlighted by the thumping of footsteps and the buzz of an ended call. Soon after, Tony stumbles onto the roof, panting.

I saunter over to him, slapping his back a few times. "How you been, Tony?"

"Not bad, all things considered." He rights himself, brushing his pants. Patting me on the shoulder, he ushers me inside. "Come on. Take off that clunky suit and I can brief you about these uneventful past couple weeks. I'm sure you've got a good bunch of stories planned for party time…"

* * *

By the time the Avengers are gearing up to leave for Queens, I send Tony on his way with a kiss, a warning, and a promise to be watching.

I wag my finger at him as he skips to his flashy orange car.

"So you'll be staying here, Pep?"

"No, I'll be right behind you. I just need to check on Bruce and Clint."

"They're no fun, staying behind when a wonderful game room is waiting to be filled."

I glare at him. "You know that Clint's situation is bad, Tony. Be serious, if you can."

"Serious? What's that mean?" He raises an eyebrow.

I wave the statement off. _It's no use._ "Have fun, but no drinking."

"Always looking out for me, Pep. See you there."

Not ten minutes later, I'm yanking open the door to Queens's best game room. Neon colors blind me as I step in, spiraling around my brain. ACDC rock music grates my ribs and vibrates the floor. I freeze in the doorway, one thousand regrets swimming in my head. _Okay. It's all right. It's just a party._ I hold my chin up and take a deep breath. _One of Tony's crazy parties, more like it. Handle it like a champ. Like a champ…_

The first one to find is Tony. I discover him standing on an empty bar table, dictating his audience about his heroic deeds. There's not a glass in his hand, not one bottle around him, much to my relief. Rhodey stands nearby with his own personal crowd. Tony leaps from the table, whacking Rhodey's back with a gauntleted hand. "Take it away, Rhodes! Tell your story!"

I tilt my head to one side, curious of what story rendition will come from Rhodey's mind this time.

Arms spread wide, feet planted, Rhodey inhales. "So I take the tank, fly it right up to the General's palace, drop it at his feet, I'm like, 'Boom! You looking for this?' "

I stifle a giggle at the complete silence that follows. Scattered, unenthusiastic claps break the quiet. Tony shrugs. "Sorry, Rhodes. Who wants to hear a _better_ story?"

Everyone cheers.

"I know just the man." Tony hollers into the next room. "Point Break, get your royal behind in here!"

Another growling voice bounces back. "Forget it, Stark, the fate of the universe is in my grasp!"

Tony rolls his eyes. "Fine. That man is playing Galaga. Leave him to his games."

As I move into the other room, echoing sound effects from the ancient game twinkle into the atmosphere. Thor hutches over a tiny arcade, his giant hand closed over the joystick. Fingers jab the buttons with immense force and pitch shots toward the incoming cosmic mob.

Thor grumbles, his veins bulging from a sweaty neck. "These blasted creatures– they don't know who they're dealing with." The enemies spiral downward. "I'll rid the world of every single one of you. Starting with the grasshopper." He points at a green and yellow winged creature leaving the screen. "Ha! He's running. Amateur." Breaking off with a cry as a huge swarm of 8bit masses descend, he jams the joystick to the left and rips it off. He glances from the lever to the game and gives up, rising from his seat and stomping into a separate hallway.

I trail behind him, messing with my ponytail. Not long after, we open into a smaller room where Scott and Wanda sit across from each other on couches. Scott waves his arms and squints at Wanda, his mouth set and firm.

Wanda's hands twitch and her eyes turn red.

Scott flicks his wrist. A card appears in his palm and he gasps. "Up-close magic. What'd you think of that, Scarlet Witch?"

Wanda leans back, smirking. "I knew what you were going to do." She plays with a festering sphere of red on her fingers.

I don't wait to see Scott's reaction to Wanda's clairvoyance as I accompany Thor into the yard out back.

A basketball hoop is stationed erect in a concrete field with a cluster of Avengers flocking its root. Thor strides up to join them, making four in number. The others, Sam and Vision, have all eyes on Peter.

"So this is a game called Horse." Peter gestures to the space.

"Horse?" Thor scratches his chin. "Why is there a game named after such a heroic animal?"

"Uhhh…"

"Please, continue, Parker." Sam nods at the teen.

"Anyway, the rules are simple. We all take turns making a basket in whatever way we want. The rest of the players have to get the ball in the hoop the same way as the first shooter did. If not, you get a letter as a point. Your goal is to not get points."

Vision scrutinizes the basketball in Peter's hand.

"If you fail at getting a basket five times, then your points, or letters, spell out the word 'horse' and you lose."

Sam rubs his hands together. "Ooooh, this is gonna be good. I was amazing at this game as a kid. You're all going down."

Peter takes the first shot and conducts a simple throw. One succeeds, the other two gain hapless Hs. Sam pivots in an athletic circle, his sneakers squeaking on the old pavement, and swerves to shove the ball into the air.

He misses the hoop by a yard.

Thor and Peter find his failure comedic while Vision enters the situation with a calm, analytic presence.

Vision's turn. Gripping the ball, the android surveys the basket for a long couple of minutes like a predator observing its prey. Without warning, he ascends from the ground, his cape flying out behind him, and floats to the target, ignoring the protests around him. He drops the basketball in the net and drifts back to the ground.

I snicker, covering my mouth with a hand.

Sam folds his arms. "You can't do that, man. It's against the rules!"

"I believe Mr. Parker said that we may make a basket any way we'd like?" Vision tips his head expectantly at Peter.

"Yes, but– not everyone can fly."

"It doesn't matter, Vision." Thor scoops the ball into his muscled arm. "I'll dominate everyone in this cursed game." With a great leap, he lobs the sphere forward and wrenches the hoop clean from the stone.

Collective gasps spring into being.

Tony starts a slow clap from the sidelines. "Well, that was one heck of a game, wasn't it?"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** While I was writing the party scenes, I had AC/DC, Tony's rock band of choice, playing throughout the entire writing process. I got in the mood!

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	27. Chapter Twenty-Six - Homecoming

Well, you guessed it: the title of this chapter is a nod to Spiderman: Homecoming. :) But this chapter does set up some pretty interesting thoughts.

I also saw Captain Marvel yesterday and it was so good! Go see it if you haven't already! And from the mid-credits scene, Avengers: Endgame's anticipation is off the charts... AAAAHHH!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six - Homecoming

I'm halfway into a glorious dream in which Mr. Stark and I weld Iron Man suits together when I'm awoken by the soft colors of dawn sneaking in from my window. My eyes flutter open. Groggy with sleep, I huddle under the blankets, blinking stupidly as my mind struggles to comprehend the recent events.

Right. Last night. The party.

I drag myself to a sitting position and plop on the edge of the mattress. My quarters whispers silence, wrapped in early shadows.

 _Awake already? I usually sleep in…_ Brushing off my puzzlement, I smooth my raggedy hair and wiggle my hands into the gloves from Mr. Stark. _Well, everyone wakes up early sometimes. I might as well make the best of it._ My tired muscles almost beg to be curled under the covers again, but I rebel and throw on a jacket, skipping out into the empty compound.

A walk should suit me just fine.

Ever since the problem with my powers, I've been a bit unsteady on my feet and unresponsive, however, it's comforting to know that everyone else at school, particularly Ned, has the same sensory input as I do in the present. I'm not missing out on anything by not having my heightened senses…and yet…I had liked being different.

My feet meander through the facility, and I welcome the absence of direction. I progress past the kitchen, from which the aroma of sizzling, bubbling sausage wafts. I sneak in to pinpoint the one cooking.

Falcon whistles a tune as he sifts the links of meat on a frying pan. Before he turns around, I squeeze behind the wall. _I can't hold a good conversation with an Avenger except in a battle or a party… I guess I'm not confident without my suit on._

Once again, my feet pave the invisible path and it leads me outside. The fresh, chilled air catches me off guard as I throw the doors open. Birds swoop and careen through the clouds high above, twittering. The fading accents of dawn promote the miraculous designs of Avengers Headquarters. The curve of the buildings. The gleam from the landed Quinjet. The spots of vegetation, from the clean lawn to the red and green trees. The morning breeze of spring aches, but the smile on my face whisks away the discomfort. I inhale the tingling scent of fresh grass, recent rainfalls, and morning dew. No bad guys in the midst. No gun pointed at my head. No crisis around the corner. No suit. No powers; and maybe…that might not be such a bad thing after all. For possibly the first time since the break in, a certain warmth plucks at my heartstrings. It takes me a few seconds to contemplate the feeling.

Peace.

The air sings of freedom as I wait in silence, simmering in my thoughts. A grin comes. _Maybe things could turn back to normal when Hawkeye gets better. Could they?_ Watching the diving birds, my mood turns sour and I sigh. _Probably not… What's going to happen now that–_

My ears twitch. The softest tickle of sound vibrates from far to my right. I turn.

No one. So where…?

Pausing, I concentrate for a few seconds more. The sound again. Talking? Whispering? I can't pick it up. Trusting my instincts, I make my way nearer to the source of the sound. My hunt takes me circling around to the back of the compound. By now, I can make out a voice, speaking in a nervous whisper.

Nick Fury. What's he doing back here?

I push my back against the wall, peering around the side. There he stands, bending over a small device. I'm not close enough to understand full sentences, so I scoot toward him, praying that my stealth, even with normal senses, will suffice.

"I understand, but we need to wait."

The crackly, unintelligible answer sparks through the device.

"Don't you worry. I know what I'm supposed to do." A beep and a click indicates an ended call.

I clear my throat.

Nick Fury whirls around, shoving the device in his pocket.

Swallowing the familiar awkwardness that comes with holding conversations in person, I launch into what I hope is a strong-sounding question. "What are you doing out here so early, Mr. Fury?"

"Oh, hello, Spiderman. I was just finishing up a call with an agent of mine." He shrugs his shoulders, blinking into the sky. "She's on a mission for me."

I nod, sweat gathering on my forehead. "I'll let you get back to whatever work you need to do." I scamper off, biting my lip.

 _What was_ that _all about?_

* * *

A ringing phone with Aunt May's contact interrupts my solitary breakfast.

"Hey, May."

"Peter! How are you? It's been a while since you last called me– you know I want to keep up with you"

"May, I'm fine. And I know, I'm sorry.

"How's your arm?"

"My arm's completely better."

"And…your powers?"

I purse my lips. "Still gone."

Aunt May's silent for a bit. "Okay. Okay– you know what? I'll just skip to part where I tell you what I want to tell you."

"All…right?"

"Listen, Peter… You're better now, right?"

"I mean…mostly. Yeah. What's the problem?"

"The reason you were brought to that huge facility in the first place was because you were hurt and we didn't know what was wrong with you. Now…you're fine. You've been missing school for weeks now. Ned's been covering for you, I've been giving excuses for you, and…the time for that is up. You don't have anything to catch up on, but it's time for you to get back."

"I did some of my work over here– ."

"Peter, it doesn't matter that you're a…a superhero. You still have a life outside of the Tony Stark business. You need to get back to school."

I sense an inner pain to the edge in her voice and choose to encourage a deeper response. "Is that really the only reason you want me to come back?"

She chuckles. "I can't hide much from you, can I? You know already, Peter, but I want you to come back home. You and Ned could hang out more that way. Maybe we could go out to eat a couple of times and chat like we used to. I just– I mean– I want… Please come home, Peter…"

I tilt my head back, inspecting the morning sun gleaming through the windows. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Fine. Call me when you make up your mind."

"I know."

"I love you, Peter."

"Love you, May."

My aunt hangs up and I slide the phone onto the table, lifting my bare hands to eye level.

It's true. Aside from the fact that my powers and heightened senses are gone, I'm…I'm _really_ fine. I'm okay. Good. Great. Wonderful, even. Despite the constant lingering anxiety about Hawkeye's fate, I truly am ready to go home. But…am I? After everything that's happened in the past month, I don't know if I can call myself ready. Yeah, I get to see Ned more often and probably get a few lashing words from Flash, but will life really be normal again? To be honest, life hasn't been normal since the day I was bitten by the spider that birthed the powers. School. Homework. Ned. The typical stuff. May wants me home. With a pang, I become aware that she's probably lonely. Could I do it? Settle back into life again?

" _You're the only one keeping my other half in tact. I couldn't bear to lose you too, Peter, not after Ben. I love you too much for you to leave."_

I pick up my phone. _Y'know what? Yes. I believe it's time to return home._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Woo hoo! What'd you think?

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	28. Chapter 27 - Break In Break Down

I had a little trouble with finding the right emotional punch in this chapter, but I think I got it! Yaaay! And I'm happy to announce that Cap, Nat, and Buck are back in this chapter as well! Woo hoo!

And to respond to a review asking why Helen Cho is not in this story: I'm not adding her because I don't feel like she's needed in the story and, like Rhodey _IMO_ , she would merely be present without having any real impact on the story. And I just have a lot of characters to deal with in the first place, so yeah. I don't really have an actual explanation in the story for her not being here, and I don't feel like it's needed since she hasn't been mentioned at all. Thanks for asking, Shannon E!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Break In Break Down

The silence around Avengers Headquarters hovers in the air as I strut into the living space, fiddling with my winged jetpack. A wiggle of movement catches my eye and I raise my head.

Scott lounges on the couch, his forlorn expression fixed on his phone's screen.

"Why the long face, Tic-Tac?"

He jumps in his seat, his focus spiraling. "Oh, hey, Falcon… It's nothing. I'm thinking about something."

"Care to tell me what's on your mind? Don't have anything better to do."

"I mean, it's…" Scott shifts his position. "My daughter wants to see me, but I'm not sure if I'm allowed to leave."

"What'd you think this is? Prison?"

"No, but– well, you see– Iron Man's…" Scott clenches his fists. "I don't know when something bad is going to happen and I don't want Iron Man yelling at me for not being here when the Avengers need me."

"You know, you could totally take a few days off and go see your daughter. It's not like anyone needs you at the moment. Maybe before Cap and the gang get back. No one will even notice you're gone."

Scott studies me. "You sure about that? I don't want to leave if– ."

"Dang, Scott– It's fine! No one's gonna fire you."

"Yeah, I've got enough experience in that field."

I pull up a cushioned chair beside him.

"So you and Captain America are good friends, right?"

"You could say that, yeah."

"Is it boring? Waiting for him to get back?"

I cross my leg over the other, laughing. "I got four more days until they get back. I can survive that long. No seriously, it's not bad. Feeling like an Avenger again is exciting, y'know?"

"Missions don't come often for me."

"Yeah, they aren't seen very often either." I slap him on the back. "They can't even find you!"

Scott chuckles. "Every day, I still can't believe I beat an Aven– ."

"Hey, hey!" I jab a finger into the air, narrowing my eyes. A smirk slides onto my face. "Don't dwell on the past, Tic-Tac."

"It's true, though."

"Yeah, right. Auditions are the first impression that everyone forgets."

"Now _that's_ not true."

"You're lucky I didn't– ."

A toaster dings from the kitchen.

"Oh, I'll get it. It's mine." I heave myself from the comfort of the cushions.

"You're making toast?"

"Not for me. For Clint."

Scott's face turns somber. "Right."

I scroll to the source of the noise and pluck the pieces of toast from their slits, slathering a cheese spread over the bread in a feverish swipe that represents my rising concern over Barton. I slap ham on one side. Three meals on one plate, like Bruce had suggested.

If I can help Clint recover in any way, I'll take it. As it stands, at lunchtime, I fix the three meals on a large plate at once so the work of getting each separate course to him at different times isn't needed.

I chop up a group of varied vegetables and cluster them in the corner of the plate.

But it's not that easy. The news about Clint's health has wandered deeper into shadows with every passing day. Every time, it's the same. I bring the meals to him and lend a few words, trying to coax at least a glimmer of activity in his eyes. When nothing comes, I leave the food on his nightstand and often don't return again until the next day, training and research getting in the way of my visits. He hasn't touched a single plate I've left for him, resulting in a cold dish of leftovers for the fridge.

From what I've heard, he's always been one of the toughest Avengers, but nobody's indestructible.

Everyone has something that breaks them. Everyone.

Tuesday slogs by and, at the end of the day, when I'm polishing my jetpack, my mood might as well be buried. Bad information from Bruce. The same response from Clint. He's been in the dark for long enough– what's it gonna take?

Wednesday. Same deal. Another untouched plate shoved into the refrigerator. HYDRA research with Wanda proving to be unfruitful, as no past information is any good. A jog with Thor and some flight training with Vision.

The next two days zoom by in flickers of action. Tony and Bruce collaborate to get the tech-bandages on Clint's chest. Scott finds an opening to visit his daughter overnight between Thursday and Friday. Parker withdraws from the facility to rejoin school. More flight training. More cold meals.

Saturday arrives. The living area vibrating with murmuring Avengers drops to anticipated quiet as the rev of a Toyota speaks from outside. Stark stiffens and makes his way out of the room. Cap, Buck, and Romanoff have returned.

* * *

"Nothing. Not even one clue." I crack the window in Steve's Toyota, narrowing my eyes against the wind.

"It's still helpful knowing we crossed Brooklyn off the list for investigation. Right, Nat?"

I grit my teeth. "We're supposed to be preparing for HYDRA in case they decide to attack again while simultaneously hunting for clues to their whereabouts, motivations, agents, base locations, attack plans, patterns… There are so many questions that we need answers to before we flip the table and attack _them_."

"I know, Natasha." Steve moves to the slow lane and dials the radio volume down.

Bucky pokes his head in-between the chairs. "Fury said HYDRA wouldn't wait."

"But that's exactly what they're doing." Steve stares ahead, his husky tone deep. "It's confusing."

"Yeah. And you know why?" I glance from Bucky to Steve, balling my hands into fists. "They've got no reason to wait. If they wanted to take us all out, then they should've done it while we were still reeling from the target on Clint's farm."

"Exactly." Steve taps the steering wheel in a nervous habit. "They're planning strategically. Leaving us unsure by waiting. It's the perfect way to keep us guessing."

Bucky groans, leaning back in the seat.

Steve clears his throat, curving into the garage. "We're back. Avengers Compound."

I exit the car and march up to the front door, letting myself in without ringing the bell.

The Avengers scattered throughout the living space pause their movements as I bust through the doors. Steve and Bucky appear beside me as the group advances to greet us. The welcomes pass in a flurry of handshakes and clipped dialogue before we're ushered into a separate room with a circle of chairs. Nick paces amid the seats.

I hurry to Bruce. "Hey, big guy. I didn't see you earlier."

Bruce ducks his head. "Yeah, I-I didn't hear you come in."

"Then get your hearing checked."

The doctor chuckles, stuffing his glasses in his pocket.

I plant a delicate kiss on his cheek. "So? How is he?"

Bruce averts his eyes.

"You know who I'm talking about. Clint?"

"He's– ."

"Banner. Romanoff." Nick breaks our communication.

Bruce whispers in my ear. "I'll tell you after."

Once we're all settled on our cushions, Nick begins the discussion.

"Rogers, Romanoff, Barnes. Glad to have you back. But I'm sure we're all desperate to know– did you find anything?"

Steve shakes his head, tightening his lips. "Nope. Nothing."

Bucky pipes up. "We inspected everything in Steve's portion of the museum countless times. It didn't say a lot about HYDRA, other than the fact that they were defeated."

Nick adjusts his patch. "Which we now know to be false. They're not gone and are indeed armed."

"We also searched past files and asked veterans that happened to be visiting the Smithsonian." Steve exchanges a look with me. "Still, nothing."

Nick sticks his hands in his coat pockets. "Well, I apologize that your search didn't lead to anything useful, but I'm happy to announce that one of my agents discovered a new threat that could connect to HYDRA."

The air in the room pulls heavily down on us.

"His name is Chameleon. Not much is known about him, only that he's extremely stealthy. He hadn't been too active until recently, when he was spotted by a witness near a HYDRA ambush a few weeks ago."

"Witness? Ambush?" Steve jerks his head up. "Tell us more. Who was the witness? Where did the ambush happen?"

"Relax, soldier. The witness is dead and the ambush information is destroyed."

Before Steve has the opportunity to respond, I scan the room and notice a single absence. "Hang on, where's Tony?"

Steve stiffens, his eyes darting to every chair.

Sam drums his fingers on the cushioned arm. "He left the room as soon as he heard your Toyota drive up. Haven't seen him since."

Steve fiddles with the fabric, sweat glistening on his brow.

Nick observes the situation. "It looks like this meeting would best be held at a different hour. I'll let you three get settled in and give you time to unpack from your trip. We can schedule this discussion for a later time."

Dismissed. Everyone shoots to their feet, some faster than others, as we shuffle off. At once, Bruce takes my arm.

"Come on. I need to show you something."

"Bruce, let's talk about Clint."

"I know. After I show you this."

When we slow to a stop, my concern escalates as I find myself in the kitchen. "Bruce, why are we here? What's going on?"

Bruce slides his hand off my wrist, avoiding eye contact, but I tap his chin up and force the connection.

"Bruce. Don't hide the truth from me. How is Clint?"

"Worse. Much worse."

Ignoring the icy chill in my muscles, I straighten. "Show me."

Bruce yanks open the fridge. "When you left, I assigned Sam to be the one that prepared the meals for him. In Clint's state, it was crucial that he stayed healthy so his wounds would heal even faster. But…he hasn't been eating. Not solids, anyway. I've been able to get some nutrients in him through a tube, but even that wont suffice for long."

I step up next to him and my stomach ties in knots. Six plates piled with boxed food rest on separate wracks. My heartbeat thunders as the fact bounces around in my head.

 _Clint hasn't eaten anything in a week._

Cold ice works its way through my veins.

My throat's blocked with a lump of emotion, but I force my speech past it as I squeeze one final question from my lungs. "Where's today's plate?"

"Still upstairs."

That answer lends my legs an explosion of energy that send me pelting through the compound, the white tiles blurring under my feet. Thoughts sputter in my brain with every stride. _Come on, Clint. Come on, Clint. Come on, Clint._ Up the stairs. Past the rooms. _Be okay. Please, please, please, be okay._

His quarters are within my sights.

 _Come on, Clint. Come on. You're okay._

A few more yards.

 _"Stay strong, Natasha."_

I tear open the door, panting.

Clint sags against the pillows, his sunken face unmoving as I kick the entryway closed and approach him. His thin limbs are pale against the blankets, having more similarity to white branches than muscles. Pink burn scars run across his pale legs, adding blotches of color to his drained skin. Fighting tears, I pull up a chair close to the bedside. running my fingers over his palms. I shudder at the touch. Instead of feeling rough and strong, the hands that I'd witnessed send so many arrows into the heads of adversaries slump in my grip, ashen, skeletal, and lifeless. His face, once so grounded and determined, is riddled with fragile features. His cracked lips are unmoving, from which wheezing respiration remind me through sound alone that my friend still lives. His cheekbones slice like deep shadows into his flesh. His hollow eyes. When before, they had been radiant and shining, full of light and life, now they stare, motionless, into nothing.

The tears flowing freely, I wave my hand in front of him. The green haze remains unresponsive.

"Clint?"

Not a twitch of movement.

"Clint, please." I rise from my place, leaning into his field of vision. "Clint…" Without bothering to wipe away my tears, I reach forward and shake his shoulder.

The tiniest flash of activity awakens in his glassy eyes.

I grab the plate of food from nearby and hold a carrot out to him. "Clint, come on. You need to eat." I poke the vegetable nearer to his mouth. "Eat."

Silence.

I watch his face for any additional response. His position persists. Glazed eyes that don't even recognize me. Tears flood my sight. _Come on, Clint, eat it. Work with me. Show me you're still here._ I grind my teeth and jolt forward, shoving the food inches from his lips. "Curse you, Clint!" The words burn on my tongue. "Eat it!" The carrot slips from my quaking grasp as I collapse into tears at my friend's side.

After an eternity, I push myself away from the bed, my skin white as I clutch the dish. I'm heading for the door when a picture on the nightstand stops me.

The Barton's farm. Laura. Clint. The kids. And…me. All on the porch steps.

 _They're gone. All of them._

Fire ignites within me. My grip tightens and the flames leap into my throat. I hurl the plate at the floor, shattering the glass. "You think you're the only one grieving, Clint?" Every syllable stabs like a jagged knife and I slam my foot onto the ground. "It hurts. I know it does. But they were my family too, you hear me? My family! You aren't the only one who lost loved ones and I-I…" Rushing up to him, I crush my fingers around his arms, tears streaming down my face. "Curse you, Clint, _wake up!_ Please, please, please, show me you're still there…" I slide to the floor, shaking with sobs. "Come back…"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Awwwww... IT HURTS.

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	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight - Chains

I've been stuck on this chapter for a good little while, but I FINALLY got it! I love all of the angst in this chapter! Nat and Steve feels are high xD

SO MUCH HYPE FOR ENDGAME WITH THE NEWEST TRAILER AAGHH!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Chains

After the meeting closes, my first destination is my quarters, in which I unpack and change into more civilized clothes. With comfortable attire usually nestles at least slight reassurance, however, the feeling couldn't be farther away.

Stark. I'd kept my eyes open for him on the way to my room only to be disappointed once again. All the evidence points to one thing: Tony's avoiding me.

I flick open my suitcase, spilling the clothes out and stuffing them in drawers. Organizing? Forget it.

I'm not surprised Tony's keeping his distance. If I'm being honest, and I'm always honest…I'd probably stay away from him too. In the past, we've created some sort of teamwork to maneuver through catastrophes, but the Civil War ruined any chance of another alliance like that. When before, I'd had the courage to walk up to him and speak my mind, now…

A shadow darts across the window. Startled, I rush to the glass in time to see Sam diving and wheeling in the sky, his flight as effortless as that of birds. His spiraling course casts a black blur on the newly-mown lawn and, even behind a solid surface, the wind from his wings rumbles my quarters. He glances my way and motions for me to open the window. I oblige and lean out, shielding the sun with my hand.

"Hey, Cap! You thinking about joining me? A little training would do you good after dancing around Brooklyn for a week."

My face breaks into a smile. "I'll be right out, Sam."

"Stretch those old muscles, 'cause these wings are ready to beat the Cap out of you." He laughs at his own wordplay. With a lively salute, he spreads his arms wide and swoops out of sight.

I watch him leave, my spirits elevated.

Jogging laps. What a way for our friendship to start… Sam surprises me with his loyalty day in and day out. Even when everything with Bucky had fallen apart, Sam hadn't left me. Before the Civil War, he'd never even known Buck, save, possibly, reputation. The Winter Soldier: Master assassin. Dozens of kills in his ledger. HYDRA's toy. And all for my sake, Sam had traded freedom for loyalty. Two years of searching with fruitless results, and had Sam ever given up on me? Not once.

 _"Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."_

But when HYDRA had ripped him from me, Sam had been there when I'd needed the support Bucky would've given.

After all this time…Sam's become a fellow soldier, an ally, and most of all…a friend.

A knock on my door shifts my attention back to the present.

"Come in."

My eyebrows shoot upward as Peter Parker slips nervously into the space, shuffling his feet. I nod in greeting. "Hello, Mr. Parker. I heard you returned to school. Couldn't stay away for long?"

"I-I…yeah. I did." The teen fidgets, arms swaying at his sides. "But, um…Captain America? I need to talk to you about something."

My stomach twists and a stab of cold like an icicle pierces my core. I scan Parker's anxious face and compose myself. "What about?"

He kicks the door closed and proceeds to reenact a moment at sunrise multiple days ago where he'd overheard a suspicious conversation between Nick and a mysterious other on a device.

"So you didn't hear who he was talking to?"

Parker shakes his head. "I don't know why I came to you and not Mr. Stark, but…something drew me here. I'm-I'm sorry to interrupt whatever you were– ."

"It's okay. Nothing major was occupying my time." I harden my voice. "I agree, though. Fury's kept secrets before, but none of those kept well." I clamber to my feet, rubbing my chin. "I'll go ask him about it right now, in fact. Thank you for telling me, Mr. Parker."

I discover Nick still in the meeting room, stacking all of the chairs in a corner, and I march up to him. "You busy?"

The director of SHIELD pauses. "Nice to see you about, Cap."

"I don't have time to chat. Are you busy?"

"Not exactly. Why? You need more information?"

"Yes, actually. I want to know what you were doing last Tuesday talking with someone through a device."

Nick's jaw works. "You know, I've gotta keep up with the rest of SHIELD. An agent of mine is on a mission in another state, so I need to communicate with her occasionally."

I dip my head slowly. _Maria Hill._ "Fair enough." Whirling around, I stalk back to the door, stopping to inquire one last question. "Speaking of which, how is she? Hill?"

Fury cocks his head. "Who?"

I narrow my eyes. "Hill. Maria Hill."

The director wipes his hands on his jacket. "Oh, she's doing quite well. I'll tell her you were asking about her, Cap."

My frown deepens. "No, that's all right. Goodbye, Fury." My spine tingles and my strides quicken as I discern a pair of eyes following me out the door and into the hallway.

* * *

Sam and I high five on the way into the compound, sweating and panting from our training session.

"Didn't think you still had it in you, Cap."

I slap him on the arm. "That's not true, and you know it. I'm more ready to fight than you'll ever be."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure." He nudges me in the shoulder, smirking. "You go up and shower, Cap. I'm gonna go help Thor with dinner. I'll shower afterward."

"Thor? Making _dinner?_ "

"Who would've known, right? The God of Thunder's got a few recipes in that big brain of his." He ambles away, whistling.

Thirty minutes and a hot shower later, I stroll into the kitchen and multiple aromas hit me. Meat. Peeta bread. Rice.

Sam's lectures cut across.

"You get the rice?"

"You didn't advise me to do so." Thor pokes the meat.

"You're gonna mess it up, man!"

"How must I– ?"

Sam rushes to the boiling pot, fishing out a spoonful of rice. The mushy glop of white droops from the yellow utensil. He drops it back into the bowl. "I guess the shawarma'll have to do without rice this time."

Bruce pushes back his seat at the table, tilting his glasses higher on his nose. "Shawarma can be good without it. It's-it's fine."

Thor frowns. "I do not know prepare such a meal. I apologize. I've ruined it for you."

Sam waves the statement away. "Ah, forget about it. But it takes a lot to make a good meal, though, you get me?"

The god observes as Sam spears a fork into a piece of meat and places it in the bread.

As I witness their situation, my mind floats farther and farther away from the present. Amid my tangled thoughts, a certain absence demands attention. "Dr. Banner, where's Nat?"

"I haven't seen her since she went to visit Clint." Bruce's eyes gleam and he swallows hard. "You think she's okay?"

"That's what I'm worried about." I cross my arms, turning in the direction of the Avengers' quarters. My gut impulse takes over. "I'll check in."

The sounds of dinner preparation, casual chatting, and bubbling pots fade into the background as I weave through the compound. I approach her door in minutes and rap on the surface.

Nothing.

"Nat?"

"Come in."

My stomach churns. Her voice… Quiet. Raspy. Choked. I enter.

Natasha hunches on the bed, her head bowed and her hair knotted and mangled over her face. She hauls her chin up as I come in and meets my gaze with puffy, bloodshot eyes rimmed in dark red. Tear stains dry on blotchy cheeks.

She sucks in a stuttering breath. "Well, don't just stand there. Shut the door."

I blink. "U-uh– Oh– right." Clicking the knob into place with a soft tick, I slide my hand off the wood and turn to face her again. "You okay?"

"Steve, if this," she gestures toward herself, "is _okay_ in your head, then you might want Bruce to take a look at you."

"Is it Clint?"

Natasha nods. "He's not eating. He hasn't since we left and he's so thin… If this keeps up he's going to starve."

I take a seat beside her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Her eyes well up and she squeezes her hands, her skin turning white.

I calm the nervous action with a gentle hand on hers. "Hey. It's okay. You don't have to tell me. But just– ."

"Have I ever told you about how Clint and I met?"

I hesitate. "Not that I know of."

"I got on SHIELD's radar. They didn't like it, so they sent someone to bring me down. Clint…he was supposed to kill me but he chose to recruit me instead."

"Well," I meet her gaze with a smile, "he couldn't've made a better call."

This gets a grin out of her, however, it quickly falls as she continues. "Before I joined SHIELD, and even afterward, I had no one. My life had been lonely. I didn't realize how lonely until SHIELD got me. All of a sudden, there weren't any missions. Nothing to do until my new director needed me. Clint kept trying to initiate a friendship that I didn't want to accept. Eventually, I warmed up to him and our friendship grew stronger and stronger over the years. It came to the point where Clint trusted me enough with his secret."

"His family?"

Natasha dips her head to confirm, sniffling. "Clint's family became my own."

I resist the urge to put an arm over her shoulder. "This isn't exactly about Clint, is it?"

"They're gone, Steve." Her entire body trembles. "They were my family too, and now they're gone…" The last word falters. "Clint doesn't even know me anymore. He's shutting me out when we need each other most." She hugs her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth.

I watch as her throat tightens and tears blur the green of her swollen eyes. My teeth sink into my lip. _Nat… What should I do? I want to calm her down, but how will she respond?_ A sudden memory from the Civil War begs for my brief attention.

 _Unconvinced, I shake my head. "I'm sorry, Nat. I can't sign it."_

 _Natasha holds her head up. "I know."_

 _My eyebrows twitch. "Then what're you doing here?"_

 _"I didn't want you to be…alone."_

 _Those words break me. Sighing, I sense the tears burning behind my eyes._

I glance at Natasha. "Hey…" Turning her face toward me, I drop my arm to her back. "Come here."

Nat pauses for a moment before accepting my affection.

I gather her in my arms, resting my chin on the top of her head as she melts into tears in my embrace. Her body shudders in my grip, her sobs muffled on my shoulder. I stroke her hair, forcing my thoughts to my own lifelong grief. "It's okay. It's okay… I've felt this too. This grief– for friends, for family. For the life we used to know…" Memories flood in. Of black and white footage. Of Bucky and I, laughing together in nineteen-forty-five. Of the battlefield, the only place where I feel at home. Of the friendships that my coma in ice had stolen from me. _This grief…_ "It feels like this."

* * *

I fold my arms on my chest, kicking my legs onto the table and grumbling.

Bruce tweaks his glasses. "Her anxiety attack was a few days ago, Steve– ."

"That still doesn't change the fact that my friend has been under immense stress because she found out that Clint hasn't eaten a single thing since we returned. She's been having nightmares. Anxiety attacks."

The doctor massages his face with a hand. "She's terrified of Clint dying."

"And she's already had enough to deal with regarding the Barton family's deaths. And now Clint also?" I squeeze the arm of the chair. "What can we do? Natasha hardy ever breaks down like that."

"Unless over Clint."

I lay my head back. "Exactly. That means if one of them goes, the other does as well. Remember when Ultron captured Nat? What was he like?"

Banner strokes his chin with his fingers. "Clint was stressed out of his mind and didn't rest until he found her."

"Right. They mean the world to each other. Both are such strong individuals, but they tend crumble over one another."

Bruce jabs a finger in the air. "Clint doesn't know."

"What?"

"He doesn't know what's happening to Nat. Maybe if he did…"

The puzzle pieces fit into place. "That could wake him up."

"I-I wouldn't count on it."

"What else can I count on?" I shoot from my chair. "I'm going to talk to him."

"Steve– ."

I'm already yards away. All of this death, this mourning, these emotions… They're tearing the team apart. Affecting every one of us in a different way. There's got to be some path on which we can help Clint out of this.

I plunge into Clint's quarters, locating him splayed on his back under the covers, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Compelling myself to a slower walk, I perch on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, Barton."

As I expect, I receive no answer.

"Listen, I don't even know if you can hear me, but if you're going to choose one time to wake up, now would be the right time." I struggle for the correct words. "Everyone has felt what you're feeling. Grief. Regret. Guilt. But we didn't let it get in our way, at least not for long. We all know that it's hard and we'd be fools to think it easy, but there comes a point where the isolation doesn't just affect one person. You and Nat are so close, but your depression is what's widening the divide in your friendship. Romanoff's so concerned about you dying that she's having trouble sleeping and nightmares greet her when she _does_ find rest. She's having anxiety attacks over you, Clint." I rise to my feet. " _You_ were the one that initiated the friendship. Don't be the one that destroys that connection forever." I stomp toward the door, but halt when one last thought pops to mind. "Clint… If Natasha Romanoff means anything to you, couldn't you at least try?"

I wait for a few seconds, examining him in the entryway, and as the door shuts, I freeze.

Among the green haze in his eyes, a tiny flutter of activity stirs. Clint had listened.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** All the feeeeeeeels!

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	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine - I Finally See You

Wow, I finished this chapter quickly! It's not a very long chapter, but it wasn't meant to be grand and huge, just a little feel-good chapter for the most part. :D After all, it's the first time Clint's spoken in ten chapters...

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine - I Finally See You

 _"_ _LAURA!"_

 _A crack of sound like thunder. Fire. White. Red._

My eyelids peel open and light spills into my vision. I blink with the speed of a sloth, my bony fingers crawling about the bedcovers.

That same nightmare. Over and over and over…

The swirling patterns on the ceiling yank me back to reality.

Where am I?

Compound. Right. Right?

Laura. Where's Laura?

I slither my hand across the sheets and nothingness greets me. Dragging my head sideways, I grimace as the weight of moving my own body induces so much pain. That's all forgotten when the empty bedside reminds me that my wife is nothing but ash amid ruins.

I swallow hard, a burning sensation pulsing behind my eyes. My feelings, like cold roots sprouting from my stomach, lock me to the bed as a hollowness scrapes at my chest. A grey shroud falls over the world, fogging the ceiling above.

Heavy. Numb. Nothing.

Emptiness like a gas infects me, shallow, weightless.

 _Laura. Cooper, Lila, Nathaniel, I…I did this. It's my fault. I got them killed. I'm the reason they're gone._

 _No, no, no, this– I–_

 _I can't._

Each rasping breath hurts. Shadows creep on the edges of my sight and the darkness is tempting. The room begins to fade…

 _"_ _Clint… If Natasha Romanoff means anything to you, couldn't you at least try?"_

The memory shakes me awake. How long ago had that been spoken? Minutes? Hours?

Steve.

 _"_ You _were the one that initiated the friendship. Don't be the one that destroys that connection forever."_

Natasha.

The dark persists. Groaning, I hoist my arm to my nightstand, clutching at the photo. My heartbeat speeds up, my muscles shaking. Pain crackles through my ribs as my body twists during the effort. Perspiration drenches my forehead by the time I pull the picture into my hands. How many hours have I wasted away, staring at the ones I've lost?

Rubbing the tattered photograph, I squint and inch my thumb to the side to uncover a particular redhead. Nat, settled beside me on the porch snapshot, an arm over my shoulder and a hand deep into Cooper's shaggy hair.

I let the picture drift to the floor, my ashen fists flooding with white tension.

Natasha.

 _What am I doing?_

I inhale, wincing as a swell of pain blooms in my chest.

 _"_ _You and Nat are so close, but your depression is what's widening the divide in your friendship."_

 _Nat. My gosh, Natasha… Anxiety attacks. Nightmares. Because of me. All of this…because of me. It's my fault. I did this._

Grimacing, I lay my head back, panting and dizzy. The ceiling spirals alongside my churning stomach.

 _Natasha._

A knock on the door interrupts my negative thoughts and not a second later, a figure steps in, a plate of food in his hands.

Sam?

My gaze trembling, yet intent, I muster up enough breath to speak. "Where's Nat?" The words are croaking and raspy, my throat raw from disuse, but the question still holds the same importance.

Sam jumps, the meals teetering on the plate. His eyebrows skyrocket and he sets the dish down. "Clint…? You're awake."

I repeat the inquiry, gritting my teeth. "Sam, where's Nat?"

"I'll be right back." Sam pushes the plate toward me and bustles out.

"Wait, Sam…" I trail off with a strained breath.

His footsteps grow faint and not a minute later, they return with an additional pair. Someone explodes into the room followed by a gasp.

"Clint!"

My attention jerks up.

Natasha, her mouth hanging open, her face cupped in red curls, stands in the doorway.

"Tasha."

My partner rushes to my side, locking her hands around my own. "Oh my goodness, Clint…" She wiggles her fingers in front of me. "You can hear me? You can see me?"

I nod, my throat tightening as I note her puffy eyes. "Natasha… I'm so sorry." Tears skid down my face. "I'm sorry, Tasha– I'm so sorry…"

"No, Clint," she strokes my arm, "please– ."

"Tasha!" I grasp her arm, quaking. "I shut you out. I hurt you. I-I forgot about you and you're my best friend– ," my voice catches on a sob, "I'm so sorry– ."

Natasha swipes at my tears, running a hand down my cheek. "Shhh… Calm down. It's okay. I'm here now. I'm okay."

I rest my head back, my breath rattling in my lungs. Our eye contact breaks when Nat leans down and plucks an object from the ground.

The photo.

My partner observes the shot for a couple long seconds before slipping it into my lethargic hands.

"Tasha…"

"Don't apologize again, Clint."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"It won't– ."

"Since the explosion, I…I don't know what happened. All of a sudden, it was like everything went dark." My family's expressions gleam back at me from the photograph, shining in the summer sun. Laura's farmhouse flannel, dusted with hay, and the glowing cheeks that I'd kissed sweet dreams every night. Lila's arms squeezing my leg, her hands sprinkled with glitter from the afternoon art project. Cooper's dirty mop of hair, unkempt from working on the farm with me. Nathaniel, in Laura's lap, his grubby hands frozen in time. And Natasha… "I've wasted so much time staring at this picture, Nat… Too much time."

"It's okay."

"No, you don't understand, I-I…I didn't see anything but Laura and Cooper and Lila and Nathaniel. You were here all of this time and I didn't pay any attention. I-I didn't know. I didn't care, Nat. You're my best friend and I didn't even care that you were hurt." My eyes well up and my friend's shape blurs. "Steve said something to me and when I looked at the picture…I realized. I didn't just see corpses in my head or the ashes of the farm or the smiles that will never be, I-I saw _you_. Natasha…"

She keeps a hand on my cheek, biting her lip.

"After all this time…I finally see _you._ " I shift my position, ignoring how everything flares with discomfort, and I clasp her hands. "Tasha, please. I know I shut you out, I know I forgot about you, I know I hurt you beyond asking forgiveness, but– ," I blink to clear my gaze, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Natasha pushes me onto the pillows. "Clint, we're Earth's Mightiest Heroes. If we can't fix you, then what sort of a team would we be?" She withdraws, grabbing a small bowl and spoon on the desk.

Drained, I let out a large sigh. "What's that…?"

She shoves the utensil into the food. "Ice cream. You'll eat for me now, won't you? We'll start with the best."

Hesitance gnaws at my brain, but the pain through my body makes me question whether or not I feel like arguing. One glance from Tasha's hopeful face to the spoon seals my decision and, as the bite of chocolate dessert passes my lips, a smirk tugs at my gaunt features.

Natasha chuckles. "First time in a month."

My grin widens.

 _Laura… Is-is this what you would've wanted?_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** First time in a month indeed. :)

I LOVE the name of this chapter, agh!

Read and review!


	31. Chapter Thirty - Progressive Planning

Woo hoo! This chapter is longer than usual. This is another "meeting" chapter, but there was a lot that I needed to make clear and be said!

THE NEW ENDGAME CLIP THAT MARVEL POSTED IS SO GOOD OMGOODESS GO SEE IT IT'S SO GOOOOOOD! Steve is salty and so dang _mad_!

Eighteen more days til Endgame! Whatever it takes!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty - Progressive Planning

I fiddle with the strands of my red hair, watching as the last light of reality dies from Clint's eyes.

Asleep. Finally.

Pulling the covers up to his chin, I spare a glance at the plate on the nightstand, sighing.

Someone knocks softly at the door and I peer back to catch Steve slipping into the room. "Hey."

"Hey, Nat." Steve eases himself down onto the bed, his gaze flicking from me to Clint. "You get him to eat?"

I shrug. "Since yesterday? Not much. Just a few vegetables and some meat."

"At least you got something in him. Progress is progress."

"Yeah…" I push against the back of the chair, picking at a loose thread. The weight of Steve's concern presses like an anvil in the room as he observes me, his eyes crackling with thousands of unspoken questions. Instead of withdrawing from the mass of emotion pulsing from my friend, I accept the silent affection without even raising my head. _The last time the two of us interacted, I was breaking down in his arms…_ The quiet between us tenses as I take a breath. "Steve, I…I owe you." Husky rasp tickles on the fringes of my words.

A shy smile edges onto his face. "It's okay." He scoots closer to me, gesturing to Clint's unmoving frame. "We all have to work together and support each other in a time like this."

Blinking slowly, I cross my arms. "So…what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"HYDRA. We're no wiser about HYDRA than we were a month ago and I'm starting to think their lack of activity is deliberate."

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was. Every time we've fought them, HYDRA's grown smarter and smarter. We just need to rise above them."

"And we can't do that until we know more than we do now. Sitting here and talking about it isn't doing anything."

"We're back to square one."

"Squares suck."

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. "What's the square root of eighty-one?"

"Quit it, Rogers. We've got more important things to attend to."

"Like what?"

My voice rises in pitch and volume. "Finding out where _HYDRA_ is!"

Steve fixes me with a wary look. "One, calm down. Two," he juts his chin toward Clint, "be quieter. Three, we can have some more discussions about it later with the rest of the team."

"We've done that. Over and over and over." I collapse into the seat. "Nothing's worked. We're going nowhere. At this rate, HYDRA could walk up to Avengers HQ and we wouldn't even know it."

"We have some investigative missions planned for the next couple weeks. Sam, Wanda, and Vision have volunteered to search the ruins of the Triskelion."

My movement stops. "The Triskelion?"

"SHIELD's old Headquarters."

"But why would they go there? SHIELD themselves sent teams to search the place to see if they could salvage anything a few years ago."

"And disobeyed my direct order to dispose of SHIELD."

"But that's not your point."

"SHIELD is still active from the HYDRA Uprising. HYDRA could have chosen to rise within SHIELD again."

"Do you really think they would do that? Everyone knows about the Uprising. It would be a bad choice on HYDRA's part to revert to past plans. It's open, it's known, it's unintelligent."

Another rap on the door startles us from our conversation and Scott creeps in, a granola bar clutched in one hand. "Hey, uhhh… Captain, Black Widow, Mr. Nick Fury is calling everyone for a meeting."

Steve scratches his chin. "Another meeting?"

"He says he wants to continue the one that we didn't finish– ." The top of his granola bar topples from the wrapper and onto the floor. He flinches, crouching to recollect his snack. "– a few days ago."

I roll my eyes. "Come on, Steve. We might as well take this elsewhere." Muttering a quick goodbye to Clint, I exit and reach the living area just as the rest of the Avengers are congregating among the chairs and couches. Steve tenses beside me as he spots Tony across the room, engaged in a conversation with Bruce. The captain makes haste in finding a seat opposite of Stark and I take up my place at his side. Bucky and Steve exchange a few words of greeting before Nick enters the scene and the meeting begins.

"So. Avengers." The director of SHIELD pivots and locks eyes with each of us. "If you recall, Rogers, Romanoff, and Barnes returned from their Brooklyn adventure last Saturday. Much to our dismay, they found nothing. I assume that answer still remains…?" He blinks his eye at Steve, to which my friend responds with a tight nod. "Good. But HYDRA is still out there! Which means, we have work to do. The question I recommend we tackle today, together, is as follows," Nick stamps his foot, as if to proclaim a great announcement, "where are they hiding?"

Steve clears his throat. "I suggest we list all past locations here and now, then address the reasons why they would either stay away or return."

Vision rubs the fabric of his cape. "I concur. That idea could result in being quite effective, for, in this way, we may succeed in narrowing our options."

"Right." Steve straightens. "First: Their hideouts from World War II. That couldn't be a possibility because we destroyed all of their bases and laid waste to HYDRA when Red Skull was killed."

"Next: SHIELD. Triskelion Headquarters" Sam snaps his fingers. "That was a fine plan, I'll give them that. But, once again, we ended their plots with Insight's downfall. Those Helicarriers fell, and so did HYDRA."

"Or that's what should've happened." Bruce taps his shoe on the floor in a restless habit. "There were the bases that we took down before Ultron. Those are gone."

Thor shrugs. "We could've missed one."

Steve's jaw works. "Satellites and the Iron Legion located all of the bases in Sokovia and we got rid if every single one, including Strucker's. That couldn't be possible."

"Any other sites?" Wanda crosses her legs.

Scott raises his hand as if to gain permission to speak. "Not that I've heard of. And I think I've heard all of the Avenger stories."

Nick, hands behind his back, stalks in a circle. "Are we all really forgetting or refusing to acknowledge our biggest source of possible evidence in this question?" He twists his head in a hawk-like manner, his single eye landing on the one member other than Tony who hadn't spoken. "Barnes?"

All focus swivels to the quiet soldier, who goes rigid.

Steve nudges him, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Come on, Buck."

Bucky flicks a strand of hair from his eyes and sits up. "Siberia was one of HYDRA's main bases. It was hidden off of a snowy coast and it was HYDRA's most protected, most secure, and most concealed base. It contained their main weapons storage and it was where I was kept between missions. After– ," his gaze darts to Tony for a split second before fixing on the floor again, "after I got the super-soldier serums and the Elite Squad of Soldiers were created and trained, they shipped me back to DC and I didn't see it again until Zemo showed up."

Nick stays motionless. "Anything else?"

The fingers of Bucky's mechanical arm curl and uncurl as he contemplates the situation. "There was a small base in the Austrian Alps that's gone now, and the underground camp in DC was abandoned after the HYDRA Uprising. That's all I know."

"Thank you, Barnes."

I contribute an idea. "They could've rebuilt the Siberian base."

Steve turns to me. "But why would they do that? We know where it is. We could just fly on over there and search the place."

Sam gives Steve a sidelong glance. "They wouldn't rebuild it. The government would find them out easily. War Machine's doing missions over there right now. Plus, you three banged it up so much I don't think they'd be able to."

Steve exhales, his chin in his hand. "So what's our next move?"

As the meeting continues, I stare into the distance, replaying the battle of Strucker's hideout in Sokovia. The only one's who'd gotten into the base had been Steve and Tony. Tony had retrieved the scepter, while Steve had taken out Strucker. But Tony had copied all of the files and given Steve the few physical salvages he had taken. A lightbulb fires off in my head and the statement flies from my mouth before I can stop it, "Steve, the disks!"

Everyone's bouncing speech drops to complete silence at my words.

Sam cocks his head. "What was that, Romanoff?"

"The disks you got from Strucker's lab, Steve!" I grab his arm. "Tony gave them to you before the party after we destroyed Strucker's base."

Steve's jaw drops. "I'd forgotten about those."

"Did you ever look at them?"

"Never got to it."

I rest back against the arm of the couch. "They could hold valuable information. Where are they?"

"With the other footage from World War II."

Bucky perks up. "Other footage? World War II?"

Nick views the captain. "Why didn't you tell us about this earlier, Cap?"

Steve folds his arms over his chest. "You've kept many secrets over the years, Fury. I thought it's only fitting to have some of my own."

"Care to tell us your 'secrets?' "

"During World War II, we took a cameraman with us on most of our ops and videotaped as much as we could, not only to have footage for the future movies, but also to promote me as America's Hero."

Tony scoffs.

Steve tosses him a glare before continuing. "The Smithsonian got a hold of all the footage and used some of it for World War II's section in the museum. They gave what they weren't using to me. I haven't looked at anything yet. Not even the World War II footage."

I coax him with repeating the question. "And…where's all that?"

"Brooklyn."

I frown. "We were just there, Steve."

"I know. Maybe I should go back and check those out on my own. It would just be one night."

Bucky shifts in his seat. "I'm coming with you."

Steve whirls on him, lifting a finger. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am!"

"Buck– ."

"I'm not letting you see those alone."

"You don't know what's on them."

"You're right, I don't. But– ."

"No 'buts,' Bucky. Come on!"

Buck clenches his fists. "You don't know what's on them either."

"So?"

"I'm coming with you and you can't stop me."

"Why do you want to go so badly?"

"Because I'm worried about you!"

"Well, _I'm_ worried about _you!_ "

"Barnes! Rogers!" Nick breaks the argument.

Steve and Bucky face the director with sour expressions.

"Rogers, would you like to travel to Brooklyn to investigate these…disks?"

"I would."

"When?"

Steve hesitates. "This Friday. For one night. Bucky and I."

Buck nods. "Thank you…"

No one talks for a couple seconds and Nick begins to withdraw from the circle of Avengers.

Thor flips Mjolnir high in the air. "I believe this would be a good time to mention that I'll be leaving for Asgard next week." Before anyone has time to answer, he rushes onward. "I mustn't be away long from my home world and I sense something in the cosmos that needs taken care of. I've no knowledge of how long I would be absent or when I would return. I will be here for the next week, should anyone require my aid, but after that, I doubt you will see me for a while."

A few heads nod in the group.

Nick strides forward. "Well, that brings our meeting to a– ."

"Hang on. Shouldn't we talk about Clint?" I speak up.

Nick tilts his head. "Is there anything we should know?"

I wave my hand. "Bruce? His injuries?"

"His bruises healed within the first two weeks of him being here. The third-degree burns, fractures, and punctured lung are all healed by now."

"What's left?"

"His eardrums, which are healing normally, but slowly, and his ribs, which we're mending with the Stark's bandages. They're still about a week off. Without any enhanced medical tech, his eardrums will heal in two months."

"Can we speed up the healing of his eardrums? Are you working on any more tech?"

Bruce glances at Tony.

Steve calls from across the room. "Stark. Any new tech for Clint's ears?"

Tony chooses that particular moment to mess with his watch.

Bruce purses his lips. "Tony?"

Jerking to attention, Stark whips toward the doctor. "Yes, Bruce?"

"You working on anything for Clint?"

"Ah, I'm glad you asked."

Steve growls under his breath and I place a hand on his to calm him.

"When the old man brought his threesome back, I made those earplugs we talked about."

Bruce dips his head. "Good. Let's apply them after the meeting."

Nick motions for me to take control and retreats to the edge of the circle.

"Okay, emotionally." I clap my hands. "We need to figure out who is going to contribute and how with Clint's phycological recovery. Clint needs to know that he's not alone in this and that we're all willing to help him."

Sam slaps his thighs. "I'm down. I'd be happy to act as his therapist for a time. After all, I've got experience in the field." He winks at Steve. "I could give Clint a journal to write in as well if he wants it. It's helped some of the attenders at my PTSD group way back when."

Wanda creates a sphere of red on her palm. "I could…give him dreams. Summon memories to make those at present less painful."

Steve's leg taps against the cushions. "I'll talk to him as well. About finding a reason to fight. I understand his survivor's guilt."

Warmth starts as a tiny fire in my heart. _You're not alone in this, Clint. We'll make that clear._ "Sam, you're still on for his meals as well. I'll help feed him until he feels obliged to do so himself. I'll make sure he exercises daily, like going on walks through the forests surrounding the compound to keep his strength up."

Scott scans the occupied seats. "Is that everything?"

Nick swings his arms wide. "That's everything!"

As Nick's words fade into the background, my mind wanders to the letter I'd stashed in my quarters.

The warmth grows. _When it's time…_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** What's this whole deal with the letter? Is it important in Clint's recovery? Hmmm... You'll find out!

Tony's being salty. He's not even _acknowledging_ Steve. I really really really want to know what their reunion is going to be like in Endgame. Meaning the moment that they first set eyes on each other since Civil War. #MY BODY IS TOTALLY NOT READY :O

Agh, I love Bucky and Steve arguing like that. Yay! I love writing their friendship. Hint hint: The next chapter is planning to have A TON of Bucky and Steve fluff involved. :D

Read and review!


	32. Chapter 31 - Before We Were Soldiers

Wow, wow, and WOW. I've been working hard on this chapter for the past week or so, and little did I know it was to become the longest chapter yet. It broke five thousand words last night! FIVE THOUSAND! That's the longest chapter I've ever written for anything if I remember correctly. But the words just kept flowing and flowing and flowing and there's so much I wanted to put in this chapter. It was a joy to write, with both painful, sweet, and funny parts, some of the best description I've ever written, dialogue that I'm super proud of, and overall, some of my best writing. :D

And to respond to a question/review from xSapphirexRosesxFanx about why Peter is not involved in Clint's recovery, these are the reasons:

1: He's in school and trying to get used to live not only without his powers but in a world where's he hunted by his nemesis.

2: I'm not sure exactly why, but I don't really want Peter SUPER involved in Clint's recovery process. Natasha and Steve are probably the ones mostly involved because it affects them _personally_. Aside from the fact that Clint's an Avenger, he and Peter have no connection at all and I just feel like that, with Peter being not only a minor but also not an official Avenger, it would just feel a bit out of place for Peter to be a part of Clint's recuperation.

I hope that answers your question. :D

SEVEN DAYS 'TIL I'M SEEING AVENGERS: ENDGAME, PEOPLE. _SEVEN_. _DAYS_. Me and my older brother are going to a premiere at the theater near us. :D *squeals*

Without further ado, let's begin probably my favorite chapter of this book so far, tied only by Buried Rivalries.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One - Before We Were Soldiers

The sunlight glistening off my metal fingers gleams as I shove Friday night's belongings into a pile, running through a mental list.

"You all ready for tonight, man?" Sam steps up to my side.

"Yeah, I hope so. I'm going to check if there's anything else I want, but other than that? I'm ready. As I'll ever be." Turning to straighten a pile of books, an absent object pops into my thoughts. _My journal. I'll make sure to get that later._

"What's this?"

"Huh?" I spin my head around to find Sam prodding a colored rag on top of the change of clothes. Heat flickers on my cheeks. "Uhhh…"

Sam smirks at me. "Look at you, soldier, turnin' red on me. Come on, what is it?"

Ducking my head, I mutter the answer under my breath. "It's- it's what I use to polish my arm."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "So you're an old man who spends hours in a rocking chair, polishing your rusty antique?"

I scratch the back of my neck. "I– ."

 _Rzhavyy. Rusted._

My skin tingles and my heart races. I blink twice, startled by the wave of anxiety in my mind. Pushing it away, I respond in the lightest tone I can manage. "I'm not that old, Sam."

"Really?" Sam pokes me. "I could've sworn I saw gray hairs in there somewhere. Where're your spectacles? You gonna start reading me a story or something?"

I give into the mirth and chuckle, patting his shoulder. "Yeah. It's called 'I'm Going Upstairs To Pack.' "

"You do that, soldier."

Gathering my belongings in my arms, I carry the load upstairs and into the second guest room, which had been opened up to me when I'd first arrived. Not sixty seconds pass before Steve checks in on me.

"You all packed up, Buck?"

"Almost." I stuff my clothes into a small suitcase. "Just gotta grab a couple of things first. What about you?"

"Fully packed and earlier than needed, as always." Steve moves away from the entry and closes the door. "Anyway, look…"

"Oh, here we go."

Steve scowls at me and I burst out laughing.

"Really, Buck?"

"Okay, okay, I'm listening! Go on."

Steve gives me a look. " _Anyway,_ I'm sorry about earlier, how I argued with you."

"We both were just doing what we've always been doing. Trying to protect each other, you more than me usually." I reach up to pluck a few smaller bags from the top shelf, dodging a dislodged book as I do so. "I get it, though. At least you didn't leave me here. _That_ would never settle. And besides– ." I stop short when Steve crouches to pick up what had fallen.

My journal.

Darting forward, I snatch the diary before Steve can lay a finger on it. My muscles tighten, as if preparing for a fight. "I'm-I'm not ready for you to see that."

My friend holds my gaze. "What is it?"

I press the journal against my chest, as if protecting a precious treasure. The post-its sticking from the bindings tickle my skin and drudge up faint memories. "Well, I suppose you would know." Flipping through the diary, I halt at a page on which I'd glued a Captain America photo and twist the book around. "My house. Romania."

Steve opens his mouth as if to deny something, then closes it with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Buck. I couldn't help myself."

I shut the record and slip it into my suitcase. "You never can."

"I invaded your privacy, and for that, I apologize."

"You really think I hold a grudge from that?"

"Well, you never know."

"I accept your apology, but I'm still not letting you look at it."

"Fine with me. Even I can't be trusted all the time."

* * *

I help Buck get his luggage into the car and we share a few goodbyes with the rest of the team before setting off alone together.

The monotonous roll of the car's course rumbles softly around us, carrying the quiet within the vehicle. Neither of us speak for the first hour of the drive. One hand on the steering wheel, I spare a look at Bucky. His eyes, glazed in deep thought, stare outward as the woodlands flash past the windows. My brow furrows and I drum my fingers on the wheel, battling the desire to start a conversation. Bucky's not a stranger to silence, but his lack of words is like a red flag in my mind.

The clouds move alongside time, parting to reveal a clear, sapphire sky. Trees streak by, over and over, until farmland robs the landscape of its forest. The roads are calm, free of traffic and popping with summer sunlight.

My thumb bounces on the armrest. Bucky hasn't said a word the entire drive.

That's not like him.

Still, privacy is privacy.

I stay quiet. _If Bucky wants to talk, he will. Stop worrying, Steve._

One minute. Ten. Fifteen. And before I know it, thirty.

I speed into a merge point and change lanes, clearing my throat. The first guttural noise since we started the trip.

Bucky stirs. "Steve?"

I acknowledge with a hum.

"What was I like?"

The question kills any prepared responses. "What?"

Bucky strokes his metal arm, as if to calm the anxious movement. "I mean...before HYDRA got me. What was I like?"

My foot halts on the gas for a split second as I understand what he's saying. Before HYDRA. The nineteen-forties. "Is that what you've been thinking about for the past hour and a half?"

My friend rubs his eyes. "I know you were worried."

My face flushes hot. "No, you didn't."

Bucky scoffs. "Steve, everyone can tell when you're worried about someone but don't want to say anything. You get fidgety. You glance at them all the time, or watch them continuously. It's so obvious that you can feel it in the room."

"Yeah, there're worse things for others to know."

A few seconds separate our banter.

"I really don't remember anything from before HYDRA, Steve. I don't remember who I was. That's why I want you to tell me. I want to know if I really am everything the museum says I am."

My chest pulls taut, limiting movement.

"So...what _was_ I like?"

I sigh, fidgeting in my seat. Memories flood in faster than gust from the windows.

Back to the nineteen-hundreds. Back to Brooklyn before people threw lights on it. Back when I was short.

Bullies. In the alley, in the parking lots, everywhere. Bucky to the rescue. Riding in the back of that freezer truck. Spending night after night together, training for the army. Mom died, set next to dad. Til the end of the line.

Sergeant. Serum. Freight car.

Gone.

"You- ," I swallow to moisten my dry throat, "you were so strong, and not just physically. You valued loyalty. Friendship. Trust. You never gave up on me even when every voice was yelling, 'it's impossible,' in my face. You made sure I knew that you were with me- ."

"Til the end of the line."

"Yeah. Forever and always. You saved me from bullies so many times I lost count. No matter where you were or what you were doing, you always made time to tell me or show me that you were there, silently or not. And you got into the army. First try."

"Really?"

"Really. No one was surprised, me least of all. With your strength, your confidence, and your marksmanship with a gun, the enlistment team was practically bowing at your feet."

"What about you?"

"Because I was short and filled with a myriad of health problems, no one wanted me. You kept trying to talk me out of it."

Bucky narrows his eyes. "Why?"

"I was breaking the law."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"I was lying on my enlightenment form."

" _That_ sounds like you."

"Buck, I wanted to ask…do you remember– ."

" _Please_ don't ask me if I remember my past, Steve," his voice hardens, "because I don't. There's nothing."

I clench my jaw, averting my gaze to the road.

Bucky lets out a long breath. "I'm sorry, Steve… I just can't help it sometimes."

"Maybe something'll come back to you tonight."

"Do you know what's on the disks?"

"I might have an idea. During the war, they interviewed us together a lot. It usually ended in one of us making fun of the other and we got into trouble."

Bucky grins.

I spare a quick glimpse at him and bump his shoulder. "Hey. You remember that time you made me ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?"

Buck blinks hard. A few seconds later, he beams. "That was pretty fun."

I wiggle my eyebrows. "Yeah, speak for yourself. I didn't exactly _plan_ to get sick."

"That was the best part!"

"Oh, come on…"

"I'm not kidding!"

"You _knew_ I'd get sick, didn't you?"

Bucky snickers. "Maybe. I'm-I'm really glad you're here, Steve."

My muscles relax. "So am I, pal. So am I…"

One hour later, we're rolling into our driveway and getting settled before Bucky comes to me with the anticipated question.

"So…you know where those disks are?"

I hang my coat on a kitchen chair. "I think so. They're probably in my room." Bucky accompanies me into my bedroom and I shuffle through the closet until I uncover a dusty shoebox on which is written in permanant marker: _DISKS._

Bucky pries the top off. "You were pretty literal about naming this stuff."

"I don't know why I didn't look at these earlier."

"Then this is probably the best time. Maybe it'll be of use to the search."

I root through the thin articles, dust pluming up from the storage. "We don't have to watch all of these tonight. Here." Plopping half of the stack in front of Bucky, I twirl my finger above them. "You look at those. Maybe we can rule out a few of them." My heartbeat speeds up as I see the old disks from World War II. "Hey, Buck, these are all from World War II. This is great."

"Steve…?"

I raise my head at his voice. Clutched in his hand is a scarred disk titled:

 _Operation Winter Soldier._

Grabbing it from him, I stuff it into the box. "I'm not letting you watch that."

"Steve…we could get clues from this. That's Strucker's disk, right?"

"I don't care. You're not seeing that."

"How about I leave if I start panicking?"

I wipe my hands together. "Fine."

We gather the box of ancient CDs and lug it into the living room, sticking the first circular footage into the DVD player.

Static smears across the TV and blinks into motion, the black and white colors of the nineteen-hundreds flickering before my eager attention. An empty brick wall shows up and an elderly, husky voice speaks from behind the camera.

"Rolling in three, two, one, now."

I don't stop the smile fighting to appear on my face. _Chester Phillips._ A warm fire sparks in my heart and I lean forward, as if starving to catch every word spoken.

Two figures stumble into the video. One, dressed in what I know to be red, white, and blue surrounding the star pattern, and the other, draped in a tattered, green button-down shirt, a twinkling medallion hanging from his neck.

Nostalgia squeezes my chest until I can barely draw breath. _That's…_

"Barnes! Rogers! Pull yourselves together– We're rolling!"

Bucky bounces on his feet, flailing his arms as if preparing for a long run. "Okay, okay, we're rolling. Let's go."

Chester Phillips's fist waves by the corner. "Talk about your history together. Your fights, your training, everything."

Laugh lines crinkling on my face, I tap Bucky's shoulder, the screen of the footage breaking for a split second. "You going to talk about how I got beat up so many times?"

"You were just tiny."

"I _was not_ tiny! Okay– here." I pull him in front of me. "Buck– now, Bucky… He's the man, okay? He was the strong one." My head pokes out behind him. "I just got beat up because I couldn't fight for myself."

"And I had to save you every single time." Bucky steps to the side. "Over and over and over… But you never gave up! You nearly had me saying: 'I could do this all day.' "

I whack his forearm. "That's my line."

Bucky rushes on. "And _every time_ , I come up to you– scratches are all over his face, mind you– and I'm like, ' _what a fight_ – !" He drops his head as his words dissolve into laughter.

Chester Phillips covers the camera with a wrinkled hand. "All right, all right, let's stop this run."

The footage winks out.

Back in the present, I inhale with lethargic speed, my mind fogged with memory. "That wasn't long after I…liberated all of the soldiers from that base. I remember Chester Phillips ordering me to put on the suit that they had saved. He gave both of us a quick break to eat and bathe before ushering us behind the barracks." I turn to Bucky. "You remembering anything? Any flashbacks?"

Buck shakes his head, forlorn. "I'm trying, but…nothing's coming."

"It's all right, pal. We learn this stuff together." I gesture to the TV. "You collapsed halfway through the interviews."

"I did?"

"Yeah. Whatever Zola had done to you made you really weak and didn't kick in until that moment. You were fine the next morning, but…still."

"Let's do the next disk."

"Affermative."

Static. Brick wall.

"You ready, Barnes? Rogers?" Chester Phillips angles the camera until the two of us fit on the screen. "Rolling. Rogers, what are your thoughts– ."

"– about the outfit." Bucky breaks in.

My stoic composure in front of the camera melts away at his comment.

"Barnes, we're being serious here."

"I know, I know…"

"Rogers, eyes up. What are your thoughts on getting into the war, coming from such an unhealthy family?"

Resting back on the couch, I fiddle with the clicker beside my hip, watching us together on the screen. Our radiant faces, despite the dirt and grit from earlier HYDRA run-ins, shimmer in each other's presence. A shallow sigh slips from my lungs, my unfocused gaze prickling with tears. I let myself slouch, soaking in the pain of harsh reality: _I can never go back._ Twisting my neck to observe Bucky, I note the old, shuttering footage fluttering within his ocean-blue eyes, his vision rooted to the TV. _He's still got the same blue eyes, like the sea. Something's familiar at least._ Inhaling deeply as if enjoying a satisfying wind, I absorb every second of the footage, desperate not to miss a single memory.

When the second film is done, we breeze through a couple others, during which we're interviewed in the same fashion, being asked questions about our pasts, our history in wars and fighting, and our thoughts on the current state of events. We're on the fifth barracks-interview CD when Chester Phillips asks Buck a curious question.

"Barnes, Rogers found you in the Isolation Ward strapped to an experimental table. What can you tell us about the experiences you went through?"

Bucky crosses his arms, meddling with the medallion at his torso. "I think they were trying to duplicate Steve's serum. They kept me separate from all of the other soldiers and tied to me to a table to stop me from escaping. I still tried, so they would…whip me and drug me until I physically couldn't move." He runs his tongue along his dry lips, perspiration glinting on his brow. He releases a shaky breath.

I lift my focus from the ground. "No one's ever duplicated the serum before. What Abraham Erskine did was revolutionary for the war and no one has rivaled his work. The Super-Soldier Program– ."

"S-Steve…" Bucky pales and crumples to the floor, sliding out of camera.

I cry out and dive to catch him, calling his name.

Chester Phillips shuffles around us, barking commands to the surrounding men. "Cut! Shut it off!"

The footage rolls to a stop.

"Anything, Buck?"

"What Zola did to me…it was just an incredibly muted version of what HYDRA did when I fell."

"What did they d– ."

"On that note, let's go to Strucker's disk."

"Buck, are you sure about this?"

"One hundred percent."

Bucky rams the CD in the player, and almost at once, the static pulls back to reveal a younger Brock Rumlow in a dimly-lit room. A single word growls from somewhere behind the device. Pierce.

"Go."

Rumlow nods. "Focus up, new agents. We're getting the Winter Soldier out of the cryofreeze and we're going to show you how to control him once he's out. If any of you are stationed here in DC, you're gonna to need to know how to deal with him. He's got a rep for fighting back after a brainwashing, so en route, take control and mobilize TAC teams. If he starts to escape, we've got twenty guns pointed at him, short-range ballistic, weak slugs, no rifling, ready to stop him." He smacks his gloved hand on the wall behind him. "TAC team, your op: Winter Soldier extraction imminent. Dispatch!"

The camera follows Rumlow through a dark corridor, the ceiling so low it brushes his dirty haircut. Footsteps pound in the blackness and the minimal bulbs cast thin strips of light over the guns. The twilight presses in. As the seconds fold into minutes, a square of silver luminescence approaches from the edge of the hallway and the assembled TAC team advances. As soon as the ceiling rises and they pass the entrance to the next area, they scatter, their rifles pointing inward. The chamber's carved from raw stone, having more similarity to a cave than a laboratory, save the mechanics, tools, and devices littering the space. A large bulb dangling from the ceiling drenches everything in a torturous, silver glow.

Scientists robed in white huddle around a metal coffin across the room, out of which spills cold fog. Ice snakes along the casket's single window. The top creaks open with the press of a button and inside lies a dormant figure dressed in tough, black garments. His hair, almost grey with snow, covers his face. White ice crystals peel like scabs from the metal arm and, from underneath dark eyebrows, only glazed shadows stare back.

The Winter Soldier.

I spare a nervous glance at Bucky on the sofa.

When before, he had been gawking at the edge of his seat, now he slumps against the cushions, cradling his bionic limb to his chest and shaking so hard that his flesh arm can barely grip the armrest.

I pause the video. "Buck."

"Keep going, Steve."

"I am _not_ letting you watch any more of this. You said you would stop watching if you started panicking, and you're _clearly_ freaking out. I'd be a terrible friend if I hit play on this thing."

"Steve– ."

"Leave, Bucky. Right now, or I'm not playing the rest of it."

Bucky hesitates. "Fine." He scrambles to his feet and stalks out of the room, breathing in short bursts. His footsteps retreat onto the second floor.

After at least a minute, I pursue him and find my friend pacing in his room, rubbing his temples.

He halts in his tracks when he spots me.

I lean against the doorway, frowning.

Bucky stills. "Don't put on your baby face, Steve."

"Wait, my what?"

"Your baby face. Whenever you're worried."

"Yeah, I'm worried. About you. Are you o– ?"

"Steve, I'm fine."

" _Will_ you be okay?"

"Yes, Steve… Go down and finish the footage."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

After a last exchange, I head back downstairs and I resume the footage. A couple HYDRA members sneak forward and haul Bucky from the cryofreeze tank. His head lolls about as the men drag him to a mechanical chair and strap his arms down. Bucky's sides heave as he struggles to inhale, his body chilled by the cryofreeze. A scientist creeps over to a screen on which a human silhouette materializes and hits a few keys. Bucky snaps back against the chair. The contraption above the headrest rotates into motion, tilting downward until the curved plates cling to his skull.

I manage to plummet the volume just as Bucky starts screaming.

Plunging my nails into the fabric, I stiffen, willing myself not to crack with every second that passes.

Bucky gasps for breath before the brainwashing sends him shrieking into the atmosphere again.

After what feels like an eternity, the contraption withdraws and Buck jolts in the seat, gulping for air.

Rumlow taps his hip. "Quick, start the clip."

An audio recording booms from hidden speakers, beginning with one foreign word in a Russian accent.

" _Zhelaniye_."

I flinch. I'm not fluent in Russian, but from what little I know about the language, I can still pinpoint the speech. _Longing._

" _Rzhavyy._ "

 _Rusted._

Bucky cranes his neck and flexes his fingers, grimacing.

" _Semnadtast._ "

 _Seventeen._

" _Rassvet._ "

 _Daybreak._

Bucky screws his eyes shut.

A HYDRA member taps Rumlow's gear. "We're not sending him to the second base? In Siberia?"

Rumlow bites back with a sharp whisper. "Shut up, soldier! That's classified. It's still in construction and we're not sending anybody there right now."

It takes me a few seconds to process the words. Then I fumble for the clicker and mash the eject button. The film stops.

My entire body pours with sweat as if I'd run three marathons in a row.

 _There's a second base. In Siberia._

Dialogue from the earlier meeting returns to me.

 _"_ _They wouldn't rebuild it. The government would find them out easily. War Machine's doing missions over there right now. Plus, you three banged it up so much I don't think they'd be able to."_

War Machine. Rhodey. What has he discovered about this…second base?

* * *

I'm flipping through my journal when Steve comes to check on me.

Steve sits beside me on the bed. "You…you didn't hear any of that, did you?"

The pencil falls from my grasp onto the empty pages. "I, uh….I heard me screaming."

My friend winces.

"You've probably gotten used to the sound by now. With my nightmares and everything."

Steve's eyes water. "Oh, Buck…"

"I'm sorry that you had to see that…"

"I didn't have to watch all of it, thank goodness."

"You figure out anything?"

Steve's muscles clench with tension. "There's a second Siberian base."

My mouth drops open. "What?"

"Rumlow said something about it still being in construction."

"And that footage probably dates back to when I was first shipped to DC. Sometime in the mid-nineteen-nineties."

"So it's been a while."

"Probably."

"Rhodey's over there in Siberia doing missions and we haven't heard anything from him."

I shrug. "We might."

The clock flares ten-forty-five.

Grunting, Steve hoists himself to his feet. "I should probably get some sleep, assuming I still can."

I agree with a tight nod as he walks past me.

Steve halts in the doorway. "Bucky, I…I'm so sorry. About everything."

I keep silent, letting his words carry their own weight.

"If you need anything, no matter how late, please wake me up."

The HYDRA symbol burns in my head and I bite my tongue against a groan. "Yeah, as if my screams wouldn't do that."

"I'm serious, Buck."

"I know. And I will, I promise."

"Thank you."

It takes me an hour to get to sleep, trapped in the waking world by a cold fear, and when I do drift off, it's everything but peaceful. When other times, Rumlow's chased me into my dreams to torture me, this time, my trigger words bring me further and further from Bucky Barnes and that much closer to the Winter Soldier.

* * *

After all that footage, had I really naive enough to trust the coming of sleep? At least I'll be awake if Bucky needs me.

I kick my legs over the side of my mattress, grabbing a book from the nightstand. A minute later, I hurl it across the room and flop face up on the bed, swallowed in my own thoughts.

Bucky and I have never really talked about the Winter Soldier in detail and Buck usually isn't willing to open up about what he went through, even to me, and I'm fine with that. But that doesn't stop me from wondering. Even a single day of such agony could break any man's spirit, and Bucky… For seventy years. _Seventy years_ he had to endure unspeakable treatment.

Used like a tool. Stored like a machine. Handled like an animal.

How many years had Bucky fought? When had HYDRA finally triumphed in killing the identity of Bucky Barnes?

I'm about to retrieve the book to try to read myself to sleep when I freeze, my ears twitching.

From the next room. Bucky. Screaming.

 _Oh no._

The energy that had drained away earlier explodes into my legs and I rush to my friend's bedroom to find him twisted in blankets, writhing. His cries fade into whimpers, then rise in volume and pain.

I tiptoe toward him and brace my arms in front of me, combating the urge to rush in all at once and end Bucky's suffering. When I'm close enough, I whisper his name and rest my palm on his bare shoulder.

Bucky erupts from the bed, slamming me against the wall with his metal fingers locked at my throat.

My head spins as words fight to escape. "Buck… Bucky… It's-it's me– ."

Bucky tightens his grip and growls. He closes in, baring his teeth and murmuring feverishly in Russian. His ocean eyes from before had retreated, and in their places burn a violent rage, surging like cold, bloody waves amid an endless storm.

My pulse pounds against his grasp, getting slower by the second. Fumbling at Bucky's hold with failing strength, I manage to squeeze words from my throat. "Til the end– end of the line, Buck… Your name is James…Buchanan…Barnes…"

Bucky pauses, his arm slackening for a split second.

I take advantage of my window. "You're from Brooklyn, New York. You're my friend. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. End of the line, Buck, end of the line."

After a few seconds, the shadow passes from Bucky's face and the sudden insanity fades from his vision. Gasping, he wrenches his hand from my neck, stumbling backward.

I collapse to the floor in a coughing fit. When my bruised throat and sore chest can remember how to breathe, I search for my friend.

Bucky's huddled in a dark corner, trembling violently and staring at his robotic arm like a curse. From the gentle moonlight shedding through the open window, I locate shining trails on his cheeks.

"Buck– ," I grimace at the pain searing in my throat, "Bucky, you're okay. You're okay."

Instead of responding, Bucky buries his pale face in his hands, every breath wheezing. His entire body shudders with the strength of a seizure.

I pull myself closer. "Bucky, please look at me."

The metal layers on his arm steam with heat and constrict as Bucky's fingers dig deeper into his mess of hair. Straining, he folds his arms down over his expression, the pressure on his skin turning his bloodless flesh an even paler white. He curls into a tighter ball, sucking in giant gulps of oxygen.

I grind my teeth, reminding myself of Bucky's impulsive tendency to empty his stomach in moments of high stress. "Easy, Buck, don't make yourself sick. I won't ask to come beside you if you want to fight this battle alone, but _please._ Look at me."

In a speed so slow that I'm not certain of the movement at all, Bucky's silver fingers separate and unveil an ocean eye, swollen red with tears. While the earlier thunderstorm has left his sight, the Winter Soldier's nightmarish departure has left in its wake a war of demons.

I hold up my hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Bucky's pitiful, weak voice emerges from under his skin, as quiet as moth wings. "But _I_ did."

Choosing to forget about how tender the quickly-forming bruises on my neck feel, I take a seat against the wall. "That doesn't matter now. All that matters is– ."

"Steve, I hurt you again… Even if it was only for short time, you were my mission. Just like DC."

Goosebumps tingle on my legs as a familiar, yet painful flashback takes hold.

 _"_ _You're my friend."_

 _"_ _You're my mission."_

I withstand the desire to massage my bruises. "For seventy years, you put up with their abuse, and me saying your nickname _once_ cracked a shred of hesitance in your mission. You stopped yourself. Even HYDRA can't break us forever."

Bucky covers his eye. "But they succeeded, Steve. They may not have broken you, but they broke _me_. Every day, I was sleeping on glass. Before the war, I thought the only lifeblood I could lose was in my veins, but no. HYDRA taught me a new way to bleed."

My stomach churns with unleveled concern. "I'll pick up every one of those pieces and remake you."

At long last, Bucky reveals his face, which is drained of all color. "Remember all those journals from my backpack? In Romania? That was _my own_ attempt to remake myself. I didn't want to lose anything again, so I started writing things down. What I did that day, what I dreamed about, what I remembered, what I thought I did… I figured maybe I could discover who I used to be through that, but…puzzles with thousands of pieces are too hard, especially when you only have a couple of those fragments."

I let us ease in each other's presence for a couple minutes before speaking up, pointing to the space next to Buck. "Can I come over?"

Bucky nods.

Without saying anything, I pick myself up and plop down beside Bucky. I allow another bout of noiseless communication to float between us, during which Buck once more falls into memory, quivering and panting.

"It's okay, Buck. I'm here. You're safe."

"They triggered me. In my dream. And when I woke up, I was the Winter Soldier." Bucky rocks back and forth, struggling to calm his breathing. "I'm dangerous, Steve. HYDRA treated me like a monster and…maybe they were right."

"Stop it, Buck."

"They made me into something I never knew existed. No matter how hard I try, I can't escape into whom they bent me."

"We can remake you. I promise. I'll take those pieces and glue them together. They'll harden into marble, then stone, then diamonds, then vibranium. And _that's_ unbreakable."

He blinks at me through his wall of dark hair. "Everyone's breakable, Steve."

The time catches me off guard. Three-thirty in the morning. "I'll tell you what, Buck. Let's leave this conversation for another hour, get some sleep, and drive back tomorrow. Everything's always brighter in the morning. Maybe then we can figure out how to start over."

Bucky shifts his position and nestles his temple on my shoulder. "What did I do to deserve all this, Steve?"

I release a tired exhale. "You're my friend."

"But I'm broken."

"I can fix you."

"Really?"

"Really. Don't worry about it. Go to sleep, Buck."

"Right here?"

"Right here. Right now."

We both retire to silence.

Just when I think Bucky's drifted to sleep, one rumbling name tickles my ear. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Please stay."

"I'm not going anywhere, pal."

Nothing for one second. Two. Three.

"Thank you, Steve."

I smile.

"Thank you."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** RRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHH SO MUCH FLUUFFFFFYYYY STEVE AND BUCKY MOMENTS

Aaaaaand there's a second Siberian base? Hmmmmm...

Also, heads up, this next chapter is going to reveal the important of the letter that Natasha keeps thinking about! Stay tuned!

Read and review!


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two: What Hurts Will Heal

Yay, another chapter! This one's pretty long (yay!). It fluctuated between being hard to write, and doing so in a breeze! Clint whump! TBH, though, I love this chapter so much. I hope you will too.

I promise you, Clint, the sun will shine on you again.

LOL MARVEL REFERENCE

OMGOODNESS PEOPLE I SAW ENDGAME AND WOW WOW WOW! You can watch my #EndgameExperience vlog on my YouTube channel, Lavender Twilight.

And also, I want to say my appreciative thanks to a particular Guest account that reviewed almost _every single chapter_ after ones 6 or 7. I don't say "read and review" at the end of my chapters for nothing, and once I realized that this person was reviewing every chapter pretty much, I was really surprised, pleased, and interested to hear your thoughts on pretty much every chapter (you know who you are– you referenced Agnes from Despicable Me during Bucky and Steve's fluffy moments). I don't always get to hear people's opinions on my writing, and when someone takes the time to tell me what they thought, good or bad, I really appreciate it. So, Guest account, whoever you are, thank you for taking the snippet of time to write those reviews and I hope you continue to love the story I so passionately put together! I appreciate you 3,000. :D (Endgame reference, haha!)

YES, I changed the name of the book _again_. But this one's final. With each name, I've felt that I've gotten closer and closer to the real core struggles of the book, meaning for the characters. Finally, after chapter thirty-one, I discovered what one of the main themes of this book is going to be: being broken and being remade. Then, I spent an hour at the library, staring into the distance, trying to think of a name. I just _knew_ when I'd found the perfect name. And this is it: _Bleeding in Slow Motion_. THAT'S THE FINAL NAME, PEOPLE. :D

Enjoy, readers!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two - What Hurts Will Heal

 _Farmstead sunlight blows in the scent of hay from the window and a soft hand shakes my shoulder._

 _"_ _Clint."_

 _I turn over. "Not now, Laura."_

 _"_ _Clint, I'm not Laura." This time, the shake is accompanied with pain in my ribs._

A jab of agony pulsing through my ears tugs me awake. Natasha's face swerves into focus.

"Hey, Arrow Man."

I squint. "Tasha…?"

"You need to work with me and eat breakfast, okay?"

Avoiding her pleading eyes, I wiggle the fingers of my right hand and remind myself once more that the presence I hunger for is nothing but ashes. I greet the hollow darkness rising the engulf me and shut my burning eyes.

"Come on, Clint." Natasha's finger taps my jaw. "Eat."

"Mmm."

"What?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Clint, don't start this again. It's been a couple days since you've started to accept food. Don't go back to the dark."

I blink open my eyes. "Everyone keeps telling me I should move on, but…" One by one, as memories intensify the pain in my core, the tears fall with rising speed. I clench the sheets in my weakened grip. "How can I move on knowing I killed them?"

"Hey…" Natasha perches beside me, stroking my cheek.

"All this time, when I was fighting… Yeah, I wanted to save the world, I wanted to save the city, however…mostly it was just so I could be with Laura and the kids. Safe… I tried so hard to keep them safe, and yet…" I meet Natasha's gaze, my voice breaking. "They're gone. And I don't know what to do." Stopping the connection, I lower my head, sniffing. The ache in my heart swells, piercing every muscle and draining my energy. My limbs turn to lead.

"Clint."

Laura's absence bleeds like a dagger in my heart. "I-I don't…I don't know…"

"What don't you know?"

I drop my head back, my tears evaporating in the raging of my own pulse. "It's my fault."

"Stop. Feeding. The lies. It was _not_ your fault."

"You really believe that? Who saw the tank before it fired? Me. Who had a chance to warn them? Me. But who survived? Me. And you know why HYDRA targeted them? Because I was an Avenger." My venomous words seeth from gritted teeth. "I hate being an Avenger. I hate this life. I joined to make the world a safer place. Sometimes, we did. But somehow…being part of this group managed to rip everything else away from me."

"Clint. This isn't you. You're letting your feelings rule your mouth."

I don't respond.

"Clint, look at me."

Dragging my chin down, I obey.

"When Steve gets back, he can talk to you. We've been planning methods to help you. You can talk to Sam and Steve. They'll help you come to terms with this."

Nat continues. Her speech fades into the background as I tear my eyes away from her and onto the empty bedside.

Where Laura would've been.

"…Okay?"

I purse my lips.

"Are you even listening to me?"

I open my mouth as if to add to the conversation, but instead burst into tears.

Natasha wastes no time in gathering me in her arms.

* * *

The Avengers compound rolls into view as I maneuver my Toyota into the garage. The wheels crunch on the gravel beneath and I shoot a look at Bucky as I clamber from the van, forcing down a yawn. Last night… I'm glad Bucky got to sleep at least a little. His head against my shoulder, my consolations drifting through his mind…sleep had come. I'd sat, motionless, waiting for me to nod off until an hour before we'd left. Bucky had been the one to shake me awake.

Natasha greets me at the door. "Steve. How was it?"

I shrug, avoiding the details. "It was all right. Been better."

"You find out anything?"

"Yeah. One thing. We'll talk about it with the team later."

She squeezes my arm. "And _you_ should get some rest before you drop on us."

My eyebrows skyrocket. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Sam's probably going to compare you to a raccoon. Be honest, did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

"Romanoff, you know I'm always honest."

"I'm serious, Steve."

"Not much. An hour, maybe."

"And care to explain those huge purple bruises on your neck?"

I suck in a breath and glance at Bucky heaving the luggage from the car.

Nat crosses her arms. "It was him, wasn't it? Barnes?"

I nod, running my fingers along the bruises. "How's Clint?"

"Bruce is with him, checking on his injuries. He's still taking food, but also won't feed himself."

"You try any of the things we discussed?"

"Wanda's hung out with him a couple times and Sam's dragged him into conversations. I've made him get up for some exercising. It'll take a while until his muscles are used to holding him up. He hadn't walked in a month."

"Any improvement emotionally?"

"A little. He's more willing to talk through his feelings. He accepts our care to some extent."

I sigh, my eyelids drooping. "Survivor's guilt. Regret. Anger. Hopelessness. I understand all of that. A lot of us do."

"That's why I picked you to be one of the people he talks to."

"Can I talk to him now? I haven't seen him since he woke up."

"I don't see why not."

I mutter a quick word to Bucky before following Natasha to Clint's room.

She raps on the door. A 'come in!' from Bruce turns the handle and we enter just as Clint jerks away from the doctor with a grunt.

Bruce withdraws from his ear. "Clint, scale of one to ten, how much does it hurt and how often?"

"Every couple hours. A six."

"If it gets above that, let me know, and I'll give you pain medication. Now for your ribs." Bruce adjusts his glasses. "Breathe in as much as you can, hold it for ten seconds, then let it out slowly."

Clint pauses. He inhales for a couple seconds before breaking off with a hiss of pain.

I clear my throat, my stoic facade blocking the grimace. "Banner."

The doctor whirls around. "Ah, Steve. You're back."

"I'd like to speak with Clint."

Bruce opens, then shuts his mouth. "Got it. I'll leave."

Clint watches Natasha as she pulls up a chair across the room and I lean against the side of the bed.

The AC rumbles, the wind ruffles the curtains, and still, a fragile silence hangs in the air. The rhythm of everyone's breathing is a tickle of sound in the heavy quiet. I don't take my attention off Clint. The archer's only movements are the darting of his pupils. The clock's tongues of time click. Over. And over. And over. Finally, Clint speaks.

"Hey, Cap."

I chuckle. "You know, for a couple seconds, I actually heard Clint in there."

Natasha's lips round into a small grin.

"But I wanted to talk to you. Or, more appropriately, I want you to talk to me." Wandering about the room, I tidy the area and pick up fallen objects as I form the words. "When I came out of the ice and started to come to grips with reality, I realized I'd lost everything too. Same as you. My world. My friends. My family."

Clint tightens his jaw.

"Everything that I knew…that was familiar…gone. Just like that. Now, you still live in the time you know, but all that loss sounds awfully like you, doesn't it? I felt as you did: alone. Angry. Guilty. Hopeless. I think I can pin down what you're feeling, but I want you to tell me, right here, right now, what you believe." I wrap my hands around the fence of the bed. "What you tell yourself. What you write down. What you repeat in your head time and time again that pulls you into the dark. Stream of consciousness."

Clint scratches at his sheets. "It's my fault."

I grit my teeth as the single line brings a memory from the nineteen-forties riding to the surface.

 _"_ _It wasn't your fault."_

 _"_ _Did you read the reports?"_

 _"_ _Yes."_

 _"_ _Then you know that's not true."_

Clint's dialogue returns me to the present.

"I'm an Avenger, and it's because of that my family was killed. I should've saved them. It's what I signed up to do. Save people. Maybe the only person I actually saved was myself. They suffered in death and I'm still here, alive and alone."

"For one, it's not your fault. Who was responsible for this?"

"Me."

"No. HYDRA."

Clint's fists clenched. "HYDRA."

"It wasn't you. You had nothing to do with it. And for me? Every day, I had to rediscover why I got out of bed each morning. I had to remind myself why I fight. Why I live. I helped bring myself up by telling myself the things I did for this world that prevented something worse. Because if you sink too low, you're never going to get out. Go far enough, and your light will be snuffed out, unreachable to anyone who wants to pull you out. Sam gave you a journal? To write in?"

Clint swallows hard, dipping his head.

"Then every morning, ask yourself this question: why do I fight? And who do I fight for?"

* * *

I return from a walk with Sam and clamber to my quarters, collapsing on my bed to find Natasha waiting for me.

"How was the walk, Clint?"

Grimacing, I massage my chest. "Not bad…"

"How's your chest?"

"Hurts. As always."

"Stop whining. It's getting better."

I glare at her.

"I brought you lunch. Eat it. You'll build your strength up faster if you eat." Natasha lifts a plate in her hands.

Grabbing my notebook, I slide into bed, wincing at every jab of pain. "Do I have to eat now?"

Nat frowns. "Yes." She pokes her head into my field of vision. "Have you thought about what Steve told you?"

"A little."

"Any success?"

Wincing, I lift myself from the bed and massage my leg muscles. "I fight for my family. I always have."

Natasha moves away. "Clint… That's not going to help you now."

"It's true. I fight for them. Out in the battlefield, what kept me going was them. I just wanted to get back _home_ safely so I could guard _them_ safely."

"They're gone, Clint. You know they are. Dwelling on the past and fighting for what will no longer be won't satisfy your life anymore. You need to rediscover– ."

"You don't care." A growl rumbles in my throat and I raise my head, a cold glower aiming daggers at her.

Natasha turns to face me, starting as she absorbs my look. "I care just as much as you, Clint. They were my family too." She brushes a strand of hair from my forehead and tilts my blotched face toward her. "But…it's you too. I care about you, Clint. I'm not going to sit here and do nothing while you lie yourself to the grave. If I can't slam some reason into you, then I might as well let Laura do it herself." Natasha gets to her feet.

My brow crumples at her words. "Laura? She's– ," tears threaten, "she's not here. What are you talking about?"

"Come with me." Natasha snatches an envelope from under the plate she'd brought and hurries out of the room.

"Wait, Tasha– ." I stumble to follow her, my legs still aching from the earlier strain. Busting out the door, I clutch the railing and grit my teeth as my legs throb with pressure.

Natasha appears at my side, hoisting me up and supporting me as I stagger along. "Come on– this'll be worth it. I promise."

"Where are we going?"

"The path in the woods."

My mouth drops open. "The woods? Why are– ."

"Shut up and follow me."

Without another word, I accept her help and wobble all the way into the forest.

Natasha slows her pace. "All right, here is fine."

I collapse to the ground with a grunt, blood roaring in my ears. My shirt is damp with sweat and my legs protest with every movement.

Natasha plops down beside me. "Look around you. Appreciate it."

"What?"

"Be quiet and do it."

After a pause, I swivel my head to the trees, taking in the sight. The kaleidoscope of green shades and earthly colors dance around me. Birds flash past, adding swipes of red and blue. A deep, slightly painful breath fills my lungs with clean air and the scent of fresh soil and recent rainfall douse my senses. The wind kicks in and rocks the trees. The branches and leaves brush against each other, creating a serene atmosphere. I squint against the breeze. "Tasha, it's…beautiful, but…"

Natasha cocks her head, blinking at me with an expectant expression.

"It's not the same."

"You've been going through a tough time. Whenever something like that happens, you're not the same. Neither am I. Neither is Steve or Sam or… Clint, we've all been there."

"Seems like everyone takes it better than me."

"That's a lie."

"Well, it's what I believe."

Natasha's hand squeezes my shoulder. "When Sam's wingman, Riley, died in a flight mission a couple years back, he struggled too. Much like you. When Steve witnessed Bucky's fall in nineteen-forty-five, the next thing he proceeded to do when he returned from the mission was spend hours in a ruined bar, trying intoxicate himself. Bruce had a time of depression as well when he believed himself a monster from the other guy trying to break free."

"They told you about all of these things?"

"They're my friends, Clint. More like family. They're your family too. Maybe not as much as the Bartons were, but they're still here for you. We all are. But they can only help if you let them."

"You think I haven't heard all this before? Sam, Steve, Bruce, Wanda, you… They've tried to pound the same kinds of things into my head, and it just doesn't work. I know you try, and I appreciate that. Nothing's brought me fully out, Tasha. Only Laura could do that."

Natasha's fingers grip harder and release. "Then it's a good thing I brought this." She slips the envelope into my hands.

I hold it up to the sun and skim the front. "What's this? Some kind of– ."

 _"_ _To Clint Barton - my own personal Hawkeye"_

Tears flood my gaze. Those words… That name… Laura's handwriting…

I whip around toward Nat, paying no attention to the pain in my ribs.

She smiles, an eternity of compassion glowing from her cheeks and emerald eyes. "Open it."

My voice so low it's barely audible, five words croak from a blocked throat. "Tell me what it is."

Natasha crosses her legs. "Laura once told me that she found out you were writing a letter to her in case you died and she didn't."

I shiver. _She's right._

"You didn't tell her because you wanted it to be a pleasant and hopeful surprise to bring her up, should something befall you. She did and believed the same."

My hands tremble in my lap. "So you're saying…that Laura wrote me a letter in case she died and I didn't?"

"Bullseye." Nat heaves herself to her feet. "I'm going back to the compound."

"You're not staying?"

"This is between you and Laura."

The words form into a whisper. "Just between us…"

"Can you walk back on your own?"

"I'll try."

"Good." Natasha pulls me into an embrace. "Stay strong, Clint. If you need me, I stuck a comm in your ear. Just hit me up."

"Affermative."

"That's more like the Clint I know. See you, pal." Within a minute, Natasha's out of sight and I turn my focus back to the letter.

" _To Clint Barton - my own personal Hawkeye_ "

My heart pounding like two cymbals, I slide my finger under the flap and remove the stapled letter from its protection.

 _Dear Clint,_

 _Always had a fear of change, huh? Always. A lot of people do. And when things change, it's scary. I don't think I've ever met anyone who isn't at least somewhat afraid of things changing._

 _And you… When Cooper came along, you were an excited, flustered mess for the first couple years. You remember that? Didn't know what to do with the whole baby thing even when the instructions were bouncing around in your head. Right in front of you. And with Lila? Both of us expected an easier path, but, oh, were we wrong… A second baby doesn't guarantee a more comfortable route. Different personality. Different behaviors. Different preferences._

 _But we got through it. You know we did. Together._

 _Whether it's your fear of change or pain from an old wound, I know you try to put on a strong face for everyone around you. For SHIELD, for the Avengers, for the kids… But I see right through that rock-hard expression and fake smile. And right here, right now, I know the truth. No, not as I'm writing this letter, but right now. As you're reading this._

 _You're scared._

My grip on the paper tightens as teardrops smudge a few of the words.

 _If you're reading this for the reason I'm writing it, then I'm gone. You'll never again feel my hands or hear my voice whispering goodnight. You'll never again make me eggs and bacon breakfasts or sit beside me on the porch during cold evenings._

 _I know it's breaking your heart to hear that. Trust me, I know. But remember that story I told you about that old nursery rhyme, Humpty Dumpty? Just like him, everyone's breakable, Clint. Everyone. Even you._

 _Especially you._

 _But what separates everyone from Humpty Dumpty is that you're fixable. What breaks will mend. What rips will be sewn back together. What hurts will heal. Listen to that:_

 _What hurts will heal._

 _Knowing you, my lover farm-boy, you're probably crying. You're my emotional little hawk._

 _Okay, time to address that giant hole in your heart._

 _I'm gone. That's the truth. Acting like I'm still there and latching onto whatever shadow my memory is leaving behind won't help anything. Using the past as a shield against what's coming is no way to live. Nat has probably tried to hammer that into your brain more times than I can think. But it's true._

 _Just because I'm gone doesn't make your life meaningless. Think about before you met me. What kept you going? What made you get out of that bed every morning?_

 _For years, you fought for us. You went out on that battlefield so we could live in peace. You kept us off SHIELD's files. And then when you came home, you were greeted with hugs and kisses and love from us all. Whenever you left for a mission or Avenging business, I knew there was a good chance you would never return. Sometimes you were gone for a couple days. Sometimes weeks. A few times, it spanned across one or two months on long, dangerous missions._

 _I never told you this, but once Cooper was old enough, I sat him down the day you were leaving for a mission and told him about Daddy's chance of dying out there. I was honest with him. I did the same with Lila and Nathaniel. While occasionally, during history lessons or long school lectures, they grow bored because it's just the same thing over and over again, they never got tired during these conversations. Lila cried the first time I told her. Nathaniel almost did. But I wasn't about to hide the truth from them. "Daddy could take his bow and arrow, leave to fight, and never be seen again. You would need to learn to live without him."_

 _But I know that, even though the circumstances wouldn't be the same, I knew it could happen to me as well. If I died and you didn't, you would need to take care of the kids yourself. Or, worse yet, if we all died, leaving you without your Avenging motive to drive you on._ _Now, I know that chance is very little, but just think. What if?_

 _Your very need to get out of bed and fight and train and…breathe, for goodness sake, would be lost to you. You wouldn't know how to live._

 _If you're reading this because I'm gone, you're scared. Scared to be without me. Scared to let go because it feels like you're betraying me. Scared to fully live again in fear of getting too high and being dragged down again._

 _But let me tell you something, Clint Barton:_

 _You need to live. Here. Now. Today._

 _Don't throw away your life on a shadow. I'm gone. There's nothing you can do to change that. But you know what you_ can _change?_

 _How you deal with it._

 _You used to fight for us, and in doing so, made you the best dad and husband ever. But if I'm gone, if they're gone…you need to rediscover who you fight for. You need to rediscover why you live. Life is changing, and if you don't want to change with it, then I'm sorry to say, there's not much luck in that._

 _If you still want to fight for us, then do it. Fight for our memory. But don't let it run so deep that it becomes revenge. You may be a hawk, but that'll turn you into the predator I know you're not._

 _So, please, if you're stuck in a dark time right now, let this letter be your fire. Ultron could've killed you that day, years ago, but Pietro chose to give his life so you could keep yours. If you haven't any hope, find some. I know it's hard, but other people need you. The kids need you. Natasha needs you._

 _We need you, Clint._

 _I love you more than any length of paper can show, and if I could send you a kiss from the grave, I would. But I can't. You know that. But don't let my death bring you to yours. Because you need to live. Here. Now. Today._

 _I love you, my precious hawk,_

 _Laura._

The letter drifts from numb fingers.

 _Laura…_

Instead of tears to rival the sea, I'm left with a constriction in my chest, like a snake coiling around my insides and _squeezing_.

But for the first time since the explosion, something feels different.

For once…maybe I have hope.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Earlier, I had my mom read the letter section because I wanted her feedback on whether or not it actually sounded like a wife talking to her husband. I must've done something right, because she said it really touched her and that it was amazing. I'm not a wife or in any sort of relationship so I can't say I've _experienced_ these feelings, but actually... I was proofreading this earlier, and I started getting really emotional. Part of the reason I think the letter is so powerful to me and hopefully everyone who reads this is because a lot of it came from my heart and was just a stream of consciousness. Of course, when Laura was talking about moving on from a major death and stuff like that, _that_ wasn't me, but when she talked about getting through hard things, living in the moment, and moving through his fear of change... That was all me. That was straight from the heart. I've dealt with some pretty emotional times in my life before and it's moments like these where it really pays off in a way that I'm really proud of.

Okay, enough about me.

CLINT HAS HOPE NOW, MAAAAANNN WAS THAT A BREATH OF FRESH AIR TO WRITE.

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	34. Chapter Thirty-Three - Operation Pizza

Peter's back! And there's some fun stuff that we learn from this chapter. :D And we get some updates from the mechanic man himself...

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three - Operation Pizza

Ned nudges my side, gesturing to my backpack beside the cafeteria bench. "Hey, man. Your phone's ringing."

Cursing my lack of spider senses, I yank the iPhone out. My mood brightens at the name and I tap the green button. "Hi, Mr. Stark."

"Hey, kiddo. What's up?"

"School. Boring."

"If it's so boring, why did you leave?"

I poke at the cold chicken on my plate. "You know why…"

"Do enlighten me, Spider-boy."

I roll my eyes. "How's Hawkeye?"

Ned raises his head at my question, his eyes alight with interest.

Mr. Stark clears his throat. "Big improvement on Legolas over here. Romanoff gave him some letter thing in the woods last Tuesday and the next morning, he tried to cook himself breakfast. Huge step up from not even letting his best friend feed him."

I grin. "That's good to hear."

"How's Aunt Hottie? She still mad about you and Spidey?"

I avert my gaze, reading the chocolate milk label over and over again. "Still not okay with it. When I asked if I could have my suit back, she said no immediately."

"Hmm. Not unexpected. She wants to keep you safe."

"But I thought that maybe the suit would help my senses come back."

"Peter, the suit was supposed to help you control and channel your senses, not make them stronger. That spider DNA is gone, aside from what I've managed to squeeze out of you with those gloves. The suit can't enhance what isn't there."

I groan, rubbing my forehead. "I don't want to be normal."

"No one is, Pete. If you think you're normal, you better take a look at the past and ask yourself whether any of your classmates have fought a giant bird monster."

Swallowing hard, I change the subject to another of Vulture's antics. "Any luck on Vulture's plans?"

Mr. Stark sighs. "Nope. Haven't heard anything about him since Digg broke into your house."

"Digg." I grit my teeth, fighting off the memory of the gun pressed against my head. "Anything on him?"

"Nope. To be honest, we've been kinda preoccupied with HYDRA. I haven't had a lot of time to search the archives about Digg or Toomes."

"I remember you telling me that Captain America and his friend with the metal arm were going to try and figure something out in Brooklyn. Did they find anything out?"

A rush of static crackles along the phone line, indicating movement. Mr. Stark grunts. "As a matter of fact, they did. We all met up yesterday to discuss it. There's a second HYDRA base in Siberia according to the footage they saw."

I split the chicken finger in two with my fork. "Does that mean we know where HYDRA is?"

"It's a possibility. But, here's the thing: Rhodey's– or War Machine– ."

"I know who Rhodey is, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, Rhodey has been searching Siberia and the surrounding areas in government missions for months now. He's found nothing of the sort. He said he'd patrolled the old Siberian base through and through, including multiple miles in every direction. Nothing. If there was a second base, it's gone now."

I chew the bite of chicken, my eyebrows scrunching together. "So we're right back where we started?"

"Yep. Don't know where HYDRA is, don't know where Toomes is. And Digg's activity, given that his only job is to get you, is strangely calm."

I dispose of my lunch and return to my seat. "So what's next?"

"We're not sure. Since we're back to square one, I don't know if there's much we _can_ do. We don't know who flicked a bomb into Katniss's farm, so that case is shut tight. We don't know where HYDRA is, and we don't know where Toomes or Digg are."

My spirits sink like a rock. "I can't help in any way?"

"Pete, you need to stay safe. You remember what Toomes said, right? He wants to kill you. Nothing else. Stay in your house, don't do anything stupid, and keep yourself around your friends."

"You mean Ned."

"Yeah. So keep yourself around your friend. And your overprotective Aunt."

"Yeah, that's the thing… Later today, she's leaving for a business trip and I'm going to stay at Ned's."

"Well, then you'll be with your friend."

"But what if– ."

"Kid, just don't try anything, okay? If Digg breaks into the house again, he could kill you."

I shiver. "But Toomes wants to do that."

"Okay, Pete– Listen– I can't– ." Mr. Stark cuts off, inhaling. "If you die, it's on me. I don't want to be planning your funeral because you stepped two inches out of line. You got that?"

Grinding my teeth, I drum my fingers on the table. "Got it."

"I'm taking you out to dinner tonight, so I'll see you then. To make up for three months ago."

"Bye, Mr. Stark."

"Bye, kid."

I hang up and bury my face in my hands.

Ned's hand taps my shoulder. "You okay, Peter?"

"Yeah, it's just…" I reveal my expression, "even after how much time has passed since the break in, there's been nothing on Digg or Vulture. Or HYDRA. Everything's dangerous now."

Ned cross-examines me, frowning. "Want me to change the subject?"

"Please."

My friend chows down on his cafeteria meal. "You coming in two weeks?"

"What's in two weeks?"

"The trip to Oregon. Everyone's talking about it. It's all over the news, the school's website…"

"How have I _not_ heard about that?"

"I mean, you really can't hear well anymore so– ."

I glare at him.

"Sorry."

"Give me details."

"They want to include Liz in a school trip, so we're all taking a plane over to Salem in two weeks."

At the mention of Liz, my stomach churns. "Hope I can go." I pick at a loose piece of fabric on my backpack.

"Why not?"

"I don't know– what if Mr. Stark needs me or something? I'm not sure if I should– ."

The bell screeches on the wall and signals the end of lunch.

* * *

Aunt May kisses me goodbye and hurries out the door, yelling at me to call her, should something happen. In less than a minute, her car's speeding around the corner and out of sight. Gone.

I saunter into the living room and collapse onto the sofa, following the patterns on the ceiling.

 _So I'm alone._

 _Yeah._

 _At least until Mr. Stark comes._

The silence invites drowsiness, which pulls my eyelids down like anchors. The clock twitches on the five o' clock mark. Jerking myself from my half-slumber, I clamber upstairs to get ready for the evening. As I'm advancing into the hallway, Aunt May's open bedroom piques my interest. I take a step forward and stop with a flinch. _No. I'm not going to sneak in there. I can fight the temptation._

Shaking the thought away, I slip into my room.

The earlier promise breaks within a minute and, as I'm stumbling into May's bedroom, my toe narrowly misses the side of a dresser.

 _I shouldn't be here. I can't intrude on May's privacy._

I continue walking.

 _Come on. Stop it._

Three more strides.

 _STOP._

This time, my body obeys. Fed up with my own impulse, I pivot and stomp toward the door. I'm almost to the hallway when my foot slams against a box under the bed and I tumble forward, clutching my stubbed toes. I squash my eyes shut, mumbling colorful words under my breath. However, the throbbing of my recent injury abates as I notice what's sticking out from the overturned box.

My Spiderman suit.

I extend a hand toward it, the intricate designs of the red and white material tickling my memories of the Stark internship.

A fist ramming on the door breaks me from my sentiment and I skid on crappy socks to the entrance, greeting my mentor with a smile.

But it soon fades.

Mr. Stark's jaw is clenched tight and his gaze reaches into the distance as if occupied with other thoughts. Before I can utter a word, he shakes himself and juts his chin toward his fancy Porsche. "Come on, kid. Hop in."

"What's– ?"

"Where're we gonna eat?"

"Isn't that up to you?"

"Nope. Pick somewhere."

"Uh…pizza?"

"Italian it is."

We squeeze into the neon-orange vehicle and the engine rumbles as Mr. Stark swerves around the corner of our street. I choose not to say anything until Mr. Stark starts a conversation halfway to the best pizza place in Queens.

"So, I was looking at some security camera footage from the last couple days, and you won't believe what I found."

I purse my lips. "What?"

"Digg."

My heart skips a beat.

"He's been snooping around the compound at night." Mr. Stark clears his throat and tweaks his glasses.

"That's a good thing that you found out, right? What's so wrong about it?"

"Here's the thing, kid. You think he'd be trying to figure out our secrets or something, but he's not. He isn't doing anything. Just wandering around as if he was searching for a good picnic spot. Then he leaves."

I wring my hands in my lap. "What are you going to do?"

"Keep looking at the footage, and I'll choose a time to confront him. Maybe in a couple days."

"Just you?"

"Just me. You're not coming."

"But– ."

"You've got nothing to fight with, nothing to save yourself with, and your senses are gone. You're about as capable as a newborn baby. So no. I'm not letting– ."

"I found my suit."

"I don't care. You're– ." Mr. Stark halts and glances at me. "Wait, you found your suit?"

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"I was– ," heat sizzles on my cheeks, "I was looking in Aunt May's room and– ."

"So you were sneaking."

"No, I– Yeah."

"Thought so."

"I found it when I tripped on a box."

"Hmm."

"So can I come with you? Whatever you learn I want to know too. And not just be told about it later."

"Great planning. You really think you're gonna sway me?"

"No, but I'm webbing up your car when I get home." I fold back my sleeve to reveal a filled web shooter.

Mr. Stark grips the steering wheel. "You'll need to do everything and anything that I say, got it? No fighting with him."

"Got it."

"Now, let's go get pizza."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Digg! What is he doing? And Clint's recovering tremendously... YAY! But...his suffering isn't done yet. *sneakily plans next chapter*

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	35. Chapter Thirty-Four - Dead Center

DANG this chapter was fun to write. More Clint whump, explosions, and an interrogation gone _WRONG_.

You'll find out what that means...

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four - Dead Center

I draw the bowstring back and squint at the target across the room, the silk string tickling my cheek. The stretching of my arms tempts a slight ache in my chest and a grimace twists my focused expression.

Not a sound stirs the air. The absolute silence aids in my concentration as I grind my heels into the floor, squinting at my target. The circular colors clash and fight for dominance, but I keep my eyes on the middle.

The open windows allow a spring breeze to float through and it ruffles my hair like a gentle exhale. Aside from my breathing, I'm motionless. First time training since the explosion. First day I'm able to maneuver without Natasha supporting me. First day not having severe pain in my ribs.

My fingertips brush against my jawbone as I hold the arrow in place. Hovering the arrowhead under the target, I lock myself into position and shake away the pain in my ears.

My grip on the bowstring tightens ever so slightly.

 _Dead center. Come on, Clint. Dead center._

I blink hard as my focus declines.

 _Dead center._

The target blurs and gives way to a flash of memory.

 _Chitauri, explosions, roaring._

 _The whistle of an arrow. More explosions._

 _Falling._

I release the breath I'd been holding. My shoulders slump and I lower my bow, observing the tiles on the ground. A curse slips from gritted teeth. "Why should I try if I can't focus…?"

Sam's advice rings in my skull.

 _"_ _You need to find the why. Why do I get up? Why do I eat? Why am I here? Why do I fight? Find the why, Clint. Find it."_

I swallow hard and raise the bow again.

 _The last time I shot an arrow was training with Lila._

 _Lila._

Her laughing face seizes my memory, breaking my focus with a swamp of emotion. With a noise closer to a whimper, I drop my guard once more. I can sense the tears on their way.

 _Lila. She's gone. Laura's gone. They're all gone._

Summoning a surge of strength, I send armies of affirmations in to battle my thoughts.

 _I'm strong. I'm powerful. I'm worth it. They're gone, but that won't break me. It won't. It won't. It won't._

 _It can't._

I nock the arrow and pull the bowstring to my throbbing ear.

 _I can do this. I can do this. I'm not weak. I'm not. I'm strong. I'm worth it._

 _"_ _Fight for our memory."_

This time, the target clears. This time, I let the arrow fly.

* * *

"Barton!"

I halt on my way out of the kitchen at the sound of my name.

Thor struts up to me, his crimson cape waving behind him. Instead of taking on the casual look of Earth, he's bearing the Asgard-magic-thunder-god appearance: armor, hammer, and all.

I greet him with a nod as he approaches. "Hey, man. You look decked out for space."

"Barton, I've come to say farewell. My time has come. I'm departing for Asgard."

"Yeah, I kinda figured. Well, good luck."

Thor dips his chin to accept my sentiment and I'm about to turn away when a huge hand claps me on the shoulder. His piercing eyes dig into my own. "I am pleased to see you back on your feet, Barton. I understand your grief, as I, too, have lost many loved ones in my prolonged life. I wish you the best."

I lend him a light grin, patting his leather-bound wrist. "Thanks."

"They seemed like an honorable family." He withdraws and makes his way out of the compound.

I watch him leave, my words dropping to a whisper. "Yeah, they were."

"Of _course_ they were." Natasha steps up beside me and rubs my arm. "How was training this morning?"

I flinch.

"What?"

"I– ." Flexing my fingers, I bat away the images of the earlier session. "Nothing. Nothing happened."

Nat grabs my arm. "Come on. Scott's in the training room right now. Let's go practice with him."

I stumble to follow her.

"You and I both know we don't keep secrets from each other. What happened in training?"

My stomach ties itself in knots and a lump forms in my throat. "I haven't missed in over thirty years, Natasha."

Her hand closes over my wrist.

My voice trembles. "I-I…I can't shoot straight. I tried. Over and over and over."

"You just need to train more."

"That's not going to help. In the past, I've gone months in-between shooting an arrow and it didn't make a difference. But now…" My speech falls short on the rock lodged in my airways.

Natasha gives me a sidelong glance. "It'll be okay."

I fall silent as we stroll side-by-side to the training room.

Scott whirls around as we draw near and his face lights up. "Oh– hi! Black Widow. Hawkeye. What are you…what are you doing here?"

I expect Natasha to answer, but a tighter grasp on my hand wordlessly alters the role. "We've come to train with you."

Scott bounces on his feet. "Well, that's-that's awesome! That's cool. You wanna train with me? Or together? Or alone? Or…" He shuffles his toe on the ground.

Nat draws a gun. "Together would suffice." She tilts her head toward me. "Clint?"

"What?"

"Target practice?" In her gaze echoes an inaudible message: _Don't give up._

Within a minute, I'm strapping the full quiver over my shoulders and tucking the recurve bow under one arm. Doubt creeps into my brain. _What if the same thing happens? I can't miss again. I won't._

One arrow sent. Two. Three. I empty the entire quiver in less than twenty minutes and not a single one's hit the bullseye. I grind my teeth. If I can't shoot straight…how will I be of any use to the Avengers? My superpowers are my accuracy and sight. But without one of them, I'm nothing to the Avengers. How can I– what should I–

 _I'm worthless._

 _No, I'm not._

 _I'm useless. I'm nothing._

 _Stop it._

 _I'm_ –

Natasha's hand waves in front of my face, jolting me from my thoughts. "You okay?"

My chest pulses with pressure and I realize I'm holding my breath. I bring myself back to the present. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Scott inches into my field of vision. "Hey, uh…Hawkeye. I've got an idea."

I massage beside my ear, wincing at the twinge of discomfort. "Shoot."

"You've got one more arrow left. I've got one more disk left. Why don't I enlarge– ."

"Nope." I press some buttons on my bow. "If this one's going to be an explosive arrow, you better shrink it."

"Oh. Okay. Right. Got it." Scott fumbles with a pouch and plucks a red disc from a pocket. "Tiny explosion."

"Oh, it'll still be big. I'm tempted to make a mess of the room so Stark spends more money, but I don't want to kill us either. Might as well shrink it. It'll only take out a couple targets."

Scott wipes his palms on his pants. "I– okay, uh… Cool. Right."

Nat raises an eyebrow. "You sure you don't want to run? You look a little nervous there."

He flails his arms, hitting a defensive pose. "Naw, I'm good."

"All right." I fit the last arrow in its place and wink at Scott. "Buckled in?"

"I'm good, Arrow Guy, let's go."

I yank back the string and the arrow whistles through the air. A _thud_ rattles the target and the dart's light-trigger counts down.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

An eruption of flame leaps forth in a violent burst of color.

My smile dies.

 _In the fire. A tank._

 _Coming toward us._

 _Turning._

 _Aiming._

I spin around with a shout and tackle Natasha. The ground rushes up to meet us and a dull crack in my chest prompts a cry of pain as we land. The dust settles. Nat's grumbling as she struggles to her feet. Eyes scrunched shut, I gasp out a few words. "Nat…are you okay? Please tell me you're okay…"

"I won't be if you keep tackling me like that. What was _that_ for?"

I peel open my eyelids. "Are you okay?"

Natasha crosses her arms with a huff. "What were you thinking?"

I start to rise, however, a stab of agony through my chest sucks a groan from gritted teeth. The blood drains from my face.

Nat kneels at my side, bitting her lip. "Oh-no… What did you do to yourself?"

"Answer my question." Another attempt at getting up sends a hand flying to my side.

"I'm fine other than the few bruises your tackle gave me." She slaps my shoulder. "Speaking of which, that was uncalled for."

"I need you s…" My thoughts freeze. "Wait, you didn't see the tank?"

Nat gives me a blank stare. "What tank?"

"The-the tank." I strive to a sitting position. "It was there. In the fire. It was going to shoot us."

Natasha's gaze hardens. "Clint," the single word wobbles in the air, "we don't have tanks at the compound."

 _What?_

I scrutinize where the fire had been moments earlier where plumes of smoke now hover.

 _If there aren't any tanks at Headquarters…what did I just witness?_

* * *

I stand crosslegged on the edge of the Headquarters roof, playing tic-tac-toe on my heads-up display with Jarvis. A crash from behind shatters my concentration and I bark over my shoulder. "Kid, quit messing around. Be quiet until Digg shows up."

"Sorry, Mr. Stark." Peter pops up beside me. "I'm not used to wearing the suit without my Spider-senses yet."

"Yeah, and it's because of your senses being gone that you won't be able to do any fighting or any web swinging or– ."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me. No web swinging. No climbing on walls, either. That came from the spider bite."

Pete flops onto his back, yawning. "We've been here forever and it's well past dark. He's not coming, Mr. Stark. And I have school tomorrow."

"You wanted to come. Keep your trap shut, kid. Jarvis, scan around Headquarters for an Wakandan gentlemen."

A couple seconds pass.

"Heat signature detected, sir. Around the west flank of the compound."

I pump my fist and lower my voice. "Come on, kid. I think we've caught our mouse."

We creep toward the spot Jarvis had pointed out and poke our heads over the side of the building.

Target acquired.

Digg's hooded frame wanders under the light and he kicks the grass. After a minute, he begins whistling.

Peter scoots toward me. "What's he doing?"

"What he's been doing on all that security camera footage. Absolutely nothing."

"Where're we gonna bring him?"

"Some dark alleyway in Queens. Hopefully we'll get the answers we need." My heads-up display flickers with targets and mechanics. "Okay, Pete. When I jump down there, I'll try to set him off his guard. Maybe talk to him. Confuse him."

"So you're winging it."

"At my signal, jump down and catch on to my leg or something. I'll grab him and take off into the sky after that. Hold on tight so you don't fall." I flip my mask up. "Got it?"

"Got it."

"Great. Don't come down until you hear my signal. We have the element of surprise." Mask down. "Time to scare Sherlock down here." I slip off the roof and hover in the air, descending in a smooth motion. I touch down behind Digg.

Not a muscle moves from our victim.

Nailed it.

"Stargazing, princess?"

Digg pivots, ripping two guns from his belt.

I scoff as six bullets ricochet off my suit. "Cute."

Digg stiffens.

I crush the two weapons with my gauntleted hands and fold back my mask. _Keep him talking._ "Still nursing that concussion I gave you two months ago?"

"Depends. I had help."

"From who?"

"An associate of sorts."

"Hmm. Toomes?"

"He's got better things to do."

"Like what?"

"Think you're gonna get the answers outta me? I ain't scared of you."

"Then what are you scared of? Lizards? Dirt? Flying?"

The latter coaxes the tiniest flutter of movement from Digg's pupils.

"Let me guess. You avoid planes," I count off on my fingers, "helicopters, jets, Helicarriers, scenic zip-lining tours, fancy billionaires in suits, crazy guys with wings, alien tech, weapons, bullets, missiles– ."

A missile fires from a contraption on my shoulder, stunning Digg.

"Gotcha." Shutting my mask, I dive forward. "Pete, NOW!"

I crush my arms around Digg's middle and simultaneously, Peter's clutching my leg. I rocket off into the sky. The altitude numbers in front of me climb higher and higher as my repulsor technology leaves Headquarters far behind us. The moon, like a giant reactor itself, bulges until it might as well be blinding. Foggy clouds tear past us, drenching us in cold vapor. Every muscle in my body vibrates as the suit blasts with repulsor energy. I lean forward, banking away from the moon and changing courses to the splatter of stars in the sky. "Touch the stars, Jarvis!" My heart pounds faster and faster as I take off like a human bullet.

A warning sign darts in front of my face and Jarvis's voice cuts through the raging wind around me. "Sir, I encourage you to lower your altitude. The height at which the buildup of ice occurs is nearing, and, might I remind you that you have a minor clinging to your leg."

Oh. Right.

It hadn't come to my attention before now that my right leg carries a significantly larger weight than earlier. One glance at Peter confirms the suspicion. His windblown face squished against my hamstring, he's locked both his arms and legs around my own leg, hanging on like a spider to a web.

The city below us twinkles like an urban Christmas tree, alive with lights and colors and distant traffic. The lake surrounding Queens is dark with the expanse of space and reflects the moon and stars like a painting. I can even spot myself in the water's mirror image– minuscule, flickering with stabilizer power, and _way_ too high.

It takes me less than a minute to find a suitable alleyway. I throw Digg to the ground and let Peter slide off at his own pace.

Digg makes a move to wriggle away, but I stamp a foot on his chest and ready a repulsor beam over his head. "Not so fast, Sherlock."

The Wakandan's hood had unfolded from the recent flight, revealing his features in detail for the first time. A blond mess of hair streaks back against the pavement, and he, despite his contorted expression, shows his teeth like a wild cat.

I unveil my face from the suit, chuckling. "Where's your confidence now, kitty? No guns, pinned down at Iron Man's mercy… You've been caught."

Digg sneers, the eerie glow of the single light above us gleaming off yellow teeth. "You think you've won? I'm only one part of the puzzle."

I scrunch up my nose. "That's a nasty puzzle." Lowering my arm, I grab him by his collar and kick him against the wall. "Pete."

"Yeah?"

"Webs. Go."

The sticky fluid binds our interrogation victim to the cobblestone wall.

 _Hmm. He's not fighting._ I kneel in front of Digg, flicking his jaw. "Eyes up, princess."

Digg glowers at me. "What do you want?"

"Answers. What have you been doing around the compound?"

Digg scoffs. "If only you knew."

"I could kill you right now. Give real answers."

He prods his cheek with his tongue. "Or I could do it myself."

"I– ." It takes a second for the sentence to process. "Wait, what?"

"If you must know what I was doing, I was _trying_ to get your attention." Digg raises his head, laughing. "You're right where I want you."

I power up both of my repulsor beams at his neck. "Where's Vulture?"

"I don't know."

"Tell the truth."

"I am."

"You son of a– ."

"I do know where he's gonna be."

I perk up. "Where?"

Digg works his jaw back and forth. "Oregon. Salem, Oregon. Next week. The twenty-sixth."

I exchange a look with Peter. "You're telling us? Just like that?"

Digg shrugs, trapped in the webbing. "Yep."

"Why tell us? Why not put up a fight?"

"Like I said…" Digg's lips curl into a mangled smile, "you're right where I want you."

I push my full weight onto his shoulders, glaring down at him. "What do you mean?"

Digg blows a piece of dirty hair from his mouth. "Cut off one head…" He rolls a white pill over his teeth and bites down on it. A sickening crunch grates the air. "Two more shall take its place." Foam flecks around his cracked lips. His body convulses and his head snaps back against the wall. Despite writhing limbs, his gaze is unwavering as he stares up at me. "Hail…HYDRA." A choking sound bubbles in the back of his throat and froth spills from his mouth. With one last spasm, his body stills and goes limp.

Dead.

I shoot to my feet, trying to steady my breathing.

"Mr. Stark?"

I peer over my shoulder at the teenager's quivering form. "You all right, kid?"

Tears glisten in Peter's eyes. "Mr. Stark, if Digg was able to…you know…do _that_ the entire time, why did he wait?"

One look at Digg's lifeless skin-bag and my face flushes hot. I slam an iron fist into the wall with a scream.

Though the answer to that question is shrouded in darkness, one phrase latches itself to my brain.

 _"_ _You're right where I want you."_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Anybody get First Avenger flashbacks while reading that last bit?

MWAHAHAHA! The plot thickens...

So...we got mental battles, a tank that wasn't there, unanswered questions, and a corpse leaving behind an empty allegiance statement. So much awesomeness in this chapter!

Stick around... Guess what's next chapter?

A particular captain and mechanic hurt each other with words... AGAIN.

So basically another argument.

YAY!

FYI: I will be going through and changing a bunch of the chapter names that I don't like/could be better, so yeah. FYI.

Read and review!


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five: To Kill A Nightmare

UGH WHY IS EVERY CHAPTER SO MUCH FUN?

So many fun and painful things in this chapter.

Also...with this chapter in my original document, I HAVE OFFICIALLY BEATEN MY TWO-YEAR REIGNING RECORD OF 74K AND 304 PAGES! And I'm not even close to the end of this book!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five - To Kill A Nightmare

"Jarvis, daddy's home. Wake up." I snap my fingers in front of the screens in my workshop. They respond in flashes of blue and yellow. "It's a weekend day. Let's plan some party or whatever before Pete and I leave."

"Of course, sir."

I fiddle around with the virtual keyboard. "How about…tomorrow? Saturday? Eight."

"Right away, sir. Shall I cancel your date with Mrs. Potts?"

"Oh– right." I tap my chin with a pencil. "J, Do me a favor and move it to Sunday, will you?"

"Consider it done."

"Thanks, buddy." Pushing myself from the desk, I ride my swivel chair over to a separate computer and display the screen onto the empty wall nearby. Diagrams of medical-tech blink into existence, reminding me of Clint's ailing condition. Apparently, the arrow-slinging idiot had experienced a PTSD-like hallucination while training the same day Pete and I had interrogated Digg. "Nice job, Robin Hood– breaking your ribs again. Now I gotta make you another bandage." Flicking the diagrams to the other side of the room, I create a mental note to manufacture the bandage later today. "Jarvis, open up my calendar for the next couple days. What's going on?"

"Well, your date with Mrs. Potts takes place tomorrow night. The night after, you're attending– ."

"Leading."

"Leading…a party, sir. The only thing left on your schedule after that is your vacation to Oregon with Mr. Parker on Monday. Shall I inform you of anything else?"

 _Monday._ "Jarvis, uh…"

"Yes?"

"Search the news from the past couple months– keyword: Toomes."

"Nothing found, sir."

I finger the armrest. _Staying hidden. Interesting._ "Okay, try– keyword: Vulture."

"Nothing found."

"Keyword: Digg. Or Wakandan."

"Again, no results."

A thundercloud passes over my thoughts. _Dang it. How secluded can you be?_

"Sir, lunch is ready downstairs."

I swivel around. "Lunch? Who made it?"

"Mr. Wilson and Mrs. Potts."

"Huh."

"The entire team is congregating and they wish for your presence."

"Why the entire team?"

"Unity is important, sir. They– ."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Okay, I'm heading down. Shut off the lights, Jarvis."

The lights dim as I saunter out of the room, taking my time to the kitchen. The murmurs of conversation grow louder with every step. As I walk into the room, an explosion of aromas and bustle almost has me running the other direction.

"Well, look who showed up." Pepper's voice tickles by my ear.

I jerk back, cursing. "Goodness, Pep… Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?"

"Calm down, Tony." Pepper smirks. "We're having shawarma."

"Again? We had it already."

"That was two weeks ago."

"Okay, what's going on, Pep?" I pull her into a corner. "This never happens. Are you setting this little lunch meeting up to tell me something?"

"I'm just trying to get us feeling like a _team_ again, Tony. There's been a lot of tension recently."

"In me?"

"In everybody."

"Fine. But I'm not sitting at the table."

One minute later, I'm seated at the table in-between Scott and Bruce with a steaming plate of shawarma in front of me. Before picking up my utensils, I locate everyone at the table. Next to Bruce is Romanoff, then Clint. Beside Clint sits Maximoff and Vision has taken a spot next to Pepper. Pepper, of course, chose the spot across from me. On my left side, Rogers, Barnes, and Wilson are lined as the golden trio in that order from Pepper, leaving me with the halfwit right beside me. The one with the brain the size of an ant. He's the first one to speak up partway into the meal:

"So…are we supposed to talk about the favorite parts of our day or something?" He sticks a piece of meat and rice in his mouth. "I mean, I do it with Cassie."

Vision nods. "I believe that could serve for a beneficial purpose."

I stab my meat with a fork. "The favorite part of my day is anytime but now."

The question that Scott's put forth drifts through every member and by the time it gets back to me, most have finished their meals and we're left with a feeling of unity more broken than the hour before. Much like the shawarma side trip after the Battle of New York, silence becomes our only friend for the remainder of lunch.

Wow, Pep. Great idea.

I return to my workstation with a tingle of relief only to discover Fury scrolling through some files on my computer. "Hey, Nick."

The director doesn't even lift his head. "Hello, Stark."

"Got business here? Usually people need," I clear my throat, "permission to come in here."

Nick crosses his arms. "I don't need permission to do anything. I'm my own man, Stark."

"Yeah, right. Anyway, what're you doing here? And you're not just surfing the internet."

"Actually, I've come to ask your permission on something."

"Ah." I place a coffee cup on the desk nearby. "So it's the whole permission thing again?"

"Right."

"Okay, what it is?"

"I've got some vibranium shipments over at SHIELD and I was wondering if I could reenforce the main Quinjet at the compound with it. To protect those inside from outer threats."

My eyebrows twitch. "Vibranium, huh? Wow. Guess that stuff is getting easier to find. Why do you want to do it?"

"I told you. Protection. If the pilot's shot or killed in a mission, no one's there to get us out. Might as well protect those inside that need to get us outside. Usually fast."

"Debatable. What, is this an experiment? A test? You're gonna do this with all the Quinjets?"

"Just the one. For now. But if it works, I can promise you, Stark– we'll be a lot safer on board than we ever were after I'm done."

I bounce a ball off the ceiling. "Sure. Why not? Protection is protection."

Fury chuckles. "Dang right."

When I turn around again, he's gone. _Job's done and he's ditching me. Perfect._

I hurl the bouncy ball onto a couch and activate numerous computers.

"Tony."

Steve's gravely voice pulls every muscle taunt like puppet strings.

"Tony, you forgot your glasses downstairs."

Beads of sweat gather on my forehead and one word shrieks in my brain: _Leave. Leave. Leave._ I swallow it down and force a different response. "Thanks, Cap."

"I'll put them on this desk."

 _Clink._

A couple footsteps piece the still atmosphere and I almost collapse into my swivel chair. _He's gone…_ I whip around to retrieve the glasses. Steve's still there.

He folds his arms over his chest. "Tony."

"You know, life was a lot better a second ago. So if you could just scoot your star-spangled butt outta here, that'd be great." I swerve on my heel and shut off the computers I'd turned on a minute earlier.

"What was Nick here for?"

I sink my teeth into my tongue to place a barrier between my mouth and the language fighting to escape. "He wanted to know whether he could put vibranium stuff on the Quinjet."

"The main Quinjet? The one we always use?"

"Yeah. That one."

"Tony, are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"Why not?" I throw a scowl over my shoulder. "It's to protect people."

"And there are plenty of ways to do that, but I'm not comfortable with Nick doing anything of the sort. He's been pretty suspicious lately."

My blood heats up and pumps through my veins like rivers of lava. I whirl to face him. "What's so wrong with protecting people, Cap? What is it?"

"Nothing's– ."

"If we can't have a suit of armor around the world, we may as well have one around the pilot. Is that too much to ask?"

This shuts him up. Seeing that the old man hasn't any snarky comeback up his sleeve, I return to my station and highlight the diagram of Clint's tech-bandage. "J, get Dummy on fire safety. We might need to douse Rogers over here if he sets fire."

"Tony– ."

"Or maybe we should let him burn. How about that? That's a good idea."

"Tony."

"Jarvis, don't do what I said. It'll be fun to watch Rogers dance around in flames. Speaking of flames, I should warm up this room a bit." I lean down and shove a plug into the floor, which triggers a hologram halfway across the room. "What do you think, Jarvis? It gets too cold around here sometimes."

"Tony, I– !"

"All right, time to work on Clint's bandage. Legolas needs to stop breaking his ribs. It gives me– ."

Steve smashes his hands on the table. " _Tony!_ "

I stop dead, tightening my jaw.

"Could you shut up and listen to me for one god-dang second?"

I focus on every breath in an attempt to calm those catching in my throat.

"Tony… I know you don't want me here, but I need to set things _right._ "

"With what?" Each word weighs like lead in my dry mouth.

"With Siberia."

The following exhale deflates me like a starved balloon, taking with it my strength. I collapse into my swivel chair and rotate it away from Steve.

"Tony, please. I don't care whether or not we have a conversation, but just hear me out."

"Start talking then. Wake me when you're finished."

Heavy footfalls approach me and Steve passes so close that the updraft ruffles my hair. He settles himself against the wall and says nothing for a few moments. When he does, what exits from his righteous mouth pierces me harder than the missile's shrapnel.

"I'm so sorry, Tony."

I shake my head. "Too late for that, Cap."

"You didn't deserve it."

Heat boils under my skin, churning in a bloody cauldron of emotions.

Steve lifts his chin and stabs me with his baby sapphire eyes. "But neither did Bucky."

The cauldron bubbles over and I jerk to my feet, knocking a beer bottle from the counter. The shattered glass crunches under my shoes as I advance toward the captain. "Then what _did_ I deserve, Rogers? Did I deserve the wounds you tore into my skin? Did I deserve to be beat up by the one I once trusted? Did I deserve the years and years I spent grieving over my mom?"

"Your father– ."

"Was a jerk." I close in, like a hunter to his catch. "A cold, calculating _jerk_. And so are you."

Steve withdraws. "We can't change what happened. Believe me, if I could go back and tell you before you found out like you did, I would. But I can't. And it's not able to be reversed. We can't settle this between us until you let go. I'm sorry about your parents. I really am. However, I'm done letting it tear us apart like this."

"You can't heal this one, Rogers."

"I want to try."

"You already did. And it didn't work. Bye, Cap."

I can sense Steve examining me. He doesn't move. Instead, he stands erect, motionless. A memory from Ultron's time comes spiraling to the surface, after Wanda had toyed with the Avengers' minds.

 _"_ _If you wanna get some kip, now's a good time, cause we're still a few hours out."_

 _I squint at the archer at the Quinjet's controls. "A few hours from…where?"_

 _"_ _A safe house."_

 _I don't give myself time to wonder what Barton talks of as I pace around the Quinjet's circumference, assessing each member of the team._

 _Bruce, his sweaty frame wrapped in a blanket, rests against a cushion._

 _Sitting beside him on a chair is Romanoff, who's been staring into space ever since that Maximoff witch had gotten a hold of her. The spy's red curls droop over her eyes, which have been forever transfixed on something beyond any of us. Clint had been worried out his mind finding her in such a state._

 _Thor paces, wringing his hands in front of his armored chest._

 _Steve hunches on a bench off to the side. His dirty face shines with perspiration and his jaw clenches with such strength that I'm surprised he hasn't asked for toothache medication. For the first time since he'd boarded the Quinjet, Steve makes a slow, almost jerky, movement toward his pocket and pulls out an ancient compass. Despite my integrity, I can't help slipping into the shadows to observe the captain in his goal. Steve's trembling fingers flip open the antique. On the bottom circle is what was to be expected– the compass. But on the top side…a black and white image of a woman. One who's face reminds me of an image I'd seen years ago. P… Carter. Something Carter. Worked with my dad in SHIELD. M…Margaret! Margaret Carter!_

 _I switch my attention back to the captain. In the dim lighting, Steve's eyes flood with tears, catching me off guard._

Movement from Steve in the real world yanks me from the recollection.

He pulls away from the wall and tromps past me. By the sound of his boots, he's nearing the door.

"Cap, you remember when I said 'I don't trust a guy without a dark side?' "

Silence.

"What about it?"

"I think I know what– or who– your dark side is." I spin around. "That woman in SHIELD. Margaret Carter."

Steve goes rigid.

"Ah. Hit a nerve, didn't I?"

Cap hits me with a steely glare. "Don't talk about her."

"I'm not talking about her. I'm talking about _you._ " Dragging myself from my seat, I stomp toward Rogers. "While we're on the topic of what we deserved and what we didn't, let's address this. You. Everything."

Steve backs up. "Tony, please. We don't have to do this."

"You didn't deserve her. You never did. You were skinny and weak. Nothing's changed." I grab his collar. "With everybody you've hurt and broken and killed, are you worthy of her love? Oh, wait. She's dead." I shrug in mock nonchalance. "All of your strength, your grandeur… You protect people and fight your battles just to cover up how much of a _liar_ you are."

Steve rips my hand from his shirt and hurries out of the room.

I press my weight against the windowsill, panting.

 _There we go. I found his dark side._

* * *

"So, Tony…" Pepper dabs her chin with a napkin. "How's been the tech for Clint?"

"I finished his second bandage yesterday. Bruce applied it. So as long as he doesn't break any more ribs, he should be fine in a couple days. It's stronger than the last one." I slurp the glass of scotch beside my plate.

"That's not attractive."

"What isn't?"

"Slurping."

"Hmm."

"It's established."

"Yeah, I'm sure it is."

Pepper calls for the waiter and orders an additional appetizer. When the waiter departs, she blinks at me, a frown etched into her soft features. "Okay, Tony. You need to tell me something."

"I tell you a lot of things. All the time."

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"What did you say to Steve?"

The spoon freezes halfway to my lips. "What?"

"You heard me."

"We don't need to talk about that."

"But it's on you this time. Steve was just trying to set in motion something that you two started back in two-thousand-and-twelve."

"It's gone. Let's leave it at that."

"What did you say to him?"

I grumble under my breath. "How'd you know I had him running with his tail between his legs? Because he walked right up to you and told you so?"

"Yesterday evening, I was visiting all of the Avengers and checking up on them, writing down their events and all that to get the schedule all accounted for– ."

"You have a calendar for the Avengers now? Geez, Pep, calm down."

"Stop it. If you had forgotten, they live here. Anyway, I was coming up on Steve's quarters and guess how I found him?"

"Angry?"

"Quite the opposite. He was crying." Pepper pauses. "Well, he _had_ been crying."

"Had he now?"

"Stop acting like you don't care. He was really hurt, Tony. And I know that he had come from your workshop because the last time I'd seen him, he'd talked about returning your glasses."

"Yeah, he returned 'em all right."

"To see him like that… It's not him. What did you say?" Pepper pushes every plate off to the side so the path to our eyes is unchallenged. "What heartstring did you pull?"

I rub my pointer finger on my temple. "Do you know the name Margaret Carter?"

"I've heard of it. Why?"

"She was the chick that Steve left behind when he turned himself into the human popsicle."

"So he loved her."

"Yeah."

"What did you say against her?"

With a great deal of reluctance, I explain the statements I had used against Rogers. By the end, Pepper's gaping at me.

"What?" I throw my hands in the air, matching her look with one of my own. "Why are you looking at me like that? What did I– ?"

"I know you're angry at him, but what if the roles were switched? What if, to save the world, you had to kill yourself and leave me behind to grieve? And then you woke up sixty-five years later to find out that I was alive, but had outlived the life we would've wanted together? How would you feel? You can never go back, mourning every day for the life you could never have. What if someone walked up to you and rubbed my death in your face? How would you feel?"

I swallow, all of a sudden finding it painful to do so. _Great. Pep's making me feel bad._ "Is that your goal? To make me guilty about this? Look, I was angry. I was hurt. I say a lot of stupid things when I'm like that."

"So you _do_ admit it."

"What?"

"You feel bad about it."

"So what if I do?"

"Now it's _your_ place to try and make things right. Make sure to talk to him before you and Peter leave. Talk to Steve."

I flinch.

"Maybe this is exactly the sort of situation that you needed. Something to turn you away from your blind anger about Siberia." Pepper entwines her fingers in mine. "Maybe…you and Steve have a better chance now. A chance to reconnect and to find the alliance that you two once had."

Not for the first time, the letter from the Civil War rattles off in my head.

 _"_ _I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself, and I'm sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand."_

* * *

"I'll be flying to Oregon, Pete." I open Mark-whatever's mask and buzz a few tweaks.

"So you're not taking a car?"

"Nope. I'll be flying. Same as you." To free up my hands, I mash the phone in-between my ear and my shoulder and stick a pen in my mouth. "You _are_ taking a plane, right?"

"Yeah. It's a private jet for the class."

"Wow. Pretty snazzy." I confirm the suit good-as-new and toss the writing tool aside. "Okay, we'll be going after Vulture tonight. Late tonight."

"How late?"

"I don't know, kid. But if Vulture's there, we need to stop him before things get too serious. Maybe find out some more about HYDRA too."

"I hope so."

"Hold on, Pete." I wave my hand in the air. "Jarvis, change the call to my heads-up display."

"Right away, sir."

The suit cocoons around me and Peter's webcam appears in the corner of the screen. Convincing myself that multitasking is a valid option, I trudge out of the room. "So, you got your suit?"

"Are you in yours?"

"Yep. You got your Spidey tights?"

"I think so." Peter twirls a strand of hair. "You won't let me do any fighting or anything, right?"

"Right. It's my job to protect you."

"Yeah, I know."

Pete keeps talking as I exit the compound. I'm about to reply to Peter's recent school comment when I descry Steve on the lawn with Wilson, hurtling a football back and forth.

 _"_ _Now it's_ your _place to try and make things right. Make sure to talk to him before you and Peter leave. Talk to Steve."_

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, uh… Sorry, Pete. I gotta go. End call." The teenager's face winks out and I brace myself, bridging the gap between Rogers and I way too quickly.

Wilson collects the ball and cocks his arm to send it toward Steve before noticing my presence.

Steve follows his friend's stare and performs a double take.

I wave and expect no response. I get none. "Hey, Cap. Pepper told me about– I mean– no. Remember what I was saying? Two days ago? I know I hurt you. I was angry. You know me. I do dumb things when I'm angry. And Friday was no different." I pop the hatch open to reveal my face. "So what I'm saying is– I'm not– You didn't– I shouldn't have– ." I plant a foot in the freshly-mown lawn. "Okay, look– What I'm really trying to say is…" My head throbs with the burden of my apology. "I'm sorry, Cap."

Steve's eyes sharpen like slivers of ice. Not a muscle twitches from the captain. "Too late for that, Tony."

A wave of cold washes over me. I char the ground beneath my feet as the energy from my repulsor stabilizers launch me upward.

 _I tried, didn't I? But who am I kidding? I don't care about him. I never have._

Pepper's determined account burns in my brain.

 _"_ _Stop acting like you don't care. He was really hurt, Tony."_

I twist my expression.

 _Dang it, Rogers. I do care._

 _But Siberia…_

 _How do you learn to kill the nightmare?_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** DANG I love Tony and Steve's dynamic. It's so much fun to explore. :D

Read and review!


	37. Chapter Thirty-Six - Mouse Trap

WOW this chapter took a long time. I haven't updated in a month or so! Sorry for the wait!

I've been caught up with life and I struggled with lack of enthusiasm.

But things are heating up! MWAHAHAHAA!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Six - Mouse Trap

The hotel bulbs shudder above me and I exchange a worried glance with Ned.

"What's going on, man?"

"I don't know." The ceiling trembles.

Ned and I rush to the door, peeking out. Other doors open and my classmates stick their heads out, curious to uncover the recent occurrence. Murmurs ripple through the students as the whirring and footsteps from the end of the hallway validate my suspicion.

Iron Man struts past the hotel quarters, eye-slits scanning every face.

By now, the entire class has gathered out in the hallway, chattering to each other. Flash shoves his way to the front of the group, his jaw hanging open like a deer in headlights.

Mr. Stark stops in front of me. "Hey, kid. How's Oregon?"

I shrug. "Better now that you're here."

"That's the right answer."

Flash strolls up and punches me in the side. "Nice trick, Parker. This isn't April Fools' Day. Come on, shut off the hologram– or whatever it is– and let us all go back to sleep."

Ned fumes. "Shut up, Flash. This is real." He leans toward me and drops to a whisper. "This _is_ real, right?"

Mr. Stark opens the mask. "You think I'm not real, kid?" He fires a repulsor beam in front of Flash's toes and the bully topples down with a yelp.

Laughter erupts from the class.

Flash scrambles to his feet and brushes his pants down. "The Stark internship isn't real, Peter, and you can't prove it." With one last cuff, he returns to the throng of students.

Mr. Stark slaps me on the back. "Go get ready, kid. I'll make sure these brats are gone by the time you leave with me."

Ned's eyebrows squeeze together as I shuffle into the hotel room and close the door. "Leave? Where are you going? You need to be here for the ride to the Salem capital. We're leaving early tomorrow morning. Like… _really_ early."

"Yeah, I know. I'll be back after Mr. Stark and I catch the criminal."

Ned's eyes spark to life like darts of fire. "You're gonna capture bad guys with Iron Man? How cool is that!"

"Well, this bad guy is very specific." I strip down to my boxers and slip on the Spiderman suit. The smooth fabric calms the hairs rising on my skin.

"Specific? What do you mean?"

"He's got wings. And he's tried to kill me more than once."

Ned pales. "Vulture?"

"Yeah."

"You're gonna get killed again, bro! Why– ."

" 'killed again?' "

"I mean– he's gonna hurt you, Peter. You _can't_ go. What if that mean guy is there? The one that shot you?"

"Digg?"

"Yeah, him."

"He can't be there because," I grit my teeth against the memory of his gruesome death, "he's dead."

Ned sighs. "Oh. That's good, then."

I zip my sweatshirt over my suit and strap the web shooters on my wrists. "I'll be back before you know it. Don't worry about me."

"That's kind of impossible, dude."

I grin. "I'm lucky to have you, buddy." We perform our special handshake and end in a hug.

"Bye, Peter."

"Bye, Ned."

Mr. Stark takes me up on the hotel's roof where we stand side-by-side, observing the busy nighttime city.

"Mr. Stark, do we have a plan?"

"Yeah. I made one." He taps his facial slit. "Jarvis, scan for a heat signature and an individual matching the name 'Adrian Toomes.' "

"One result found, sir. In the north side of the city on the roof of an airport building."

"Perfect." Mr. Stark murmurs something to Jarvis and kneels in front of me. "Listen, kid. You need to do what I say, got it?"

"Got it."

"Stay with me until I say to split up."

"Wait, we're splitting up? Why?"

"It's… You'll see. I sent two locations to Karen's AI. One is the airport building."

I bite my lip. "M'kay."

"When I say split up, there's something I need you to do for me. You'll go to the other location and stay there until I say to come back."

"Why aren't you telling me exactly what I need to do there?"

"Because it's not important. What is important is that you do everything that I tell you to do. Okay, kid?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now there's one more thing I need you to know."

I squint at him through the darkness. "What?"

"I can't have you holding onto me during this mission like with Digg. I don't want to drop you and I don't want you to fall off. This is an important, dangerous mission, so things could turn in seconds. If you're holding onto me and I need to make a sharp turn, you'll go flying."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you'll need to keep up."

The maggot-like worry in my stomach abates. "I can swing on webs?"

"You don't have your Spider senses, so it could feel a bit different, but yes."

A smile breaks out on my face. "Thanks, Mr. Stark!"

"Only this one time, kid."

* * *

"Touch down here, Pete. We'll split up soon." I land in the alley with a metallic _thud_ and trifle with the buttons on my gauntlet. "How you doing, kid?"

No answer.

"Kid?" I turn around.

Peter's red and blue figure swings from above on a web. He staggers against the wall, panting.

I fold my helmet into the suit and peel the kid's mask off. "Pete?"

The teenager's face is drenched in sweat and whiter than the sheets on a bed. His legs buckle and he sinks into my arms with a pained sigh.

"Whoa, hey…! You okay, kid?"

"Mr. Stark, I…" His eyes flutter open. "I don't know what's wrong– I'm…so dizzy…"

"From swinging on the webs?"

"I-I don't know… Maybe." Peter groans and stumbles to his feet. "Everything's tingling…"

"It's probably your senses. Not having them and trying to be Spiderman all over again is taking a toll on you." I withdraw and tilt my head to the stars. "We'll wait as long as we need. Don't get up until you're feeling better."

"I'm-I'm fine." Peter hauls himself to his feet. "Let's go. We need to find Vulture."

"Remember that other location?"

"Y…yeah?"

"Go to it. I'll be connected with a comm and I'll tell you when you can come over."

Peter narrows his eyes at me. "Fine. But you need to tell me what you're going to do in the meantime."

"I'll find Vulture."

"When you find him, could you call me?"

I shrug. "Okay, whatever." Powering up my stabilizers, I hover in the air and salute to him. "You sure you're going to be okay, kid?"

Peter dips his head. "I'll be okay."

"Go get me some shawarma, all right?"

"What? What are you– ?"

"Ah, doesn't matter. I'm just rambling. I'm hungry and I need to go to the bathroom anyway. I need to leave and find Vulture."

Peter ruffles his hair and swoops it to the side. "Prepare for blast off!" His voice is at least an octave higher, screeching in an undeveloped range.

"Pete, what– ."

"We're going to need a lot of power to blast off…" The teenager whacks his thighs. "Pat, pat, pat, pat– ."

I almost facepalm behind my mask. "Oh, don't get me started on that show…"

Peter beams, fixing his haircut. "I used to watch _Little Einsteins_ all the time when I was younger. Did you ever watch that show, Mr. Stark?"

"It's a stupid little-kid show, so no."

Peter places his hands on his hips.

"Gimmie a break, kid, now you look like Pepper."

"No, I– !"

"We need to stop bickering and get to work."

The teenager bobbles his head. "Okay."

"Split up, kid."

"Okay."

"Don't take risks."

"Okay."

"Awesome. Bye, kid." I rocket off into the city's polluted air before I can regret my actions. The buildings squish me with spiraling lights. Jarvis pinpoints the airport building at once, on which a helicopter landing pad twinkles with neon colors. Through the gloom, a solitary figure paces on the roof.

Adrian Toomes. The Vulture.

I levitate toward the object of the mission, my heart racing despite my confident posture. As I near, the scratchy voice of Peter's nemesis alights in the atmosphere.

"Get down here, Stark! I know you're there to kill me."

I debate firing a repulsor beam to knock him out of the game right away, but the optimal option is stay and talk. Distract him. Confuse him. Maybe get some answers. "You waiting for a helicopter?" My suit touches down on the concrete.

"Nah. Got better things to do."

"Like what?"

He shoves his hands in his pockets, the stars and faint moonlight glinting off his skull. "Waiting for you."

My foot taps. "You knew we were coming?"

"Depends." He gives a nonchalant shrug and a deadly grin.

A chill locks my spine in place.

"I know Digg's dead, Stark. I know a lot of things."

I scrutinize every detail of his clothing and expression.

"I know you captured him. I know he took the pill. I know he told you where I was gonna be. I know he died with you at his mercy."

"And so you just hobbled over here to wait for us?"

"Pretty much."

"Look, I want answers."

"I'm all yours. But first…get out of your suit or I'll send a hundred agents after Pedro."

The request kills the words on my tongue. _Peter… He's…_ Vulture's predatory eyes carve into me, making me shiver. "Fine." I step one foot out of the suit.

"Come on, get out of it."

The other foot.

"All the way."

My arms and chest.

"Hiding your face like a coward?"

"Nope." The last bit of tech creaks open. "I just don't want to see your ugly face up close. Jarvis, sentry mode."

Toomes's smile widens. "I used to respect him, you know. Peter"

"Oh, really?" Now it's my turn to pace, resembling Pepper on a stressful work night. "Trying to kill someone undoes that impression, you think?"

"Yeah, I agree with you."

"Do you now?"

"Peter's strong. Stubborn. Reckless sometimes. But strong. He saved me when he coulda left me burning in the fire."

"And that was a great choice on his part." I chuckle. "Why do you think we're here?"

"I dunno." Toomes throws his hand out to stop me in my circling. He brings one foot in front of the other until his face is inches from mine. "Ever heard of the game Mouse Trap?"

"Hmm. Yep." I pop the P. "Wanna play?"

"Actually, I would." His hazel eyes gleam. "You've seen the bait, you've run from it. You thought about it. Now you're back, sniffing out the clues." He snaps his fist closed on empty air. "Now you have the bait. You're after it. You're running to escape, thinking you're certain who's in control. But little do you know…"

Sweat rolls down my neck.

Toomes squints at me. "…you're right where I want you."

I don't have time to respond to his analogy before he's thrusting a knife into my chest.

* * *

"Karen, guide me to where Mr. Stark wanted me to go."

"Sure, Peter."

I brush off the shakiness from my earlier dizzy spell and weave through the labyrinth of alleyways. "Can you tell me where I'm going exactly?"

"Jarvis has asked me not to inform you."

Her answer stops me in my tracks. I twist my neck backward toward where Mr. Stark had left me a couple minutes earlier. _Why would he want to keep it a secret? What's he hiding from me?_

"Peter, should you be continuing toward our destination?"

I nod. "Probably, yeah. Thanks, Karen."

Avoiding cars and the public overall, I sneak around undercover, limiting my web usage and following Karen's helpful navigation. The alleys serve as wonderful pathways to dodge any sort of attention, as the sight of Spiderman in Salem rather than Queens, where his disappearance has often been discussed on the news, would blast into popularity. Nope. Not risking it. Mr. Stark seems to take the whole 'I'm popular' thing in stride and doesn't worry about any of it. At least _he_ doesn't have some winged nemesis chasing after him all the time and no one's screaming on the internet for him to be somewhere at _this_ time for _this_ event to save _these_ people.

The alleys shrink away and force me to snoop around amid the city's not-so-dark roads. My inability to climb walls due to my reverse-spider-bite episode almost has me web swinging, however, the sensations from before intimidate me enough to stay away. The roads slim down. Shop fronts and closed restaurants flank each avenue.

"Peter, you're nearing your location."

"Awesome!" I approach a fork in the road. "Which way?"

"Right."

"Roger that."

I round the corner and the only building squeezed between two broken-down houses is an old shawarma joint. My eyebrows knit together to support a tight frown. _What?_

"You have reached the destination point, Peter."

"The-the shawarma…place?"

"Yes, Peter."

I hunch, slack-jawed, for a moment before recalling a piece of dialogue from Mr. Stark.

 _"_ _Go get me some shawarma, all right?"_

He knew. He led me here on purpose. Set this as a location. Told Karen to keep it a secret.

 _Why?_

"Karen, why would he do that?"

My AI doesn't respond.

"Karen?"

"I'm not sure, Peter."

"Do you have a guess?"

"Well, Mr. Stark is always trying to protect you. Maybe he wanted you away from Vulture?"

I swing my arms and chew on my lip, averting my eyes. "What do you think I should do? Mr. Stark told me to stay here, but…I can't."

"Why can't you, Peter?"

"Mr. Stark might be in trouble."

"Why don't you contact him?"

"Good idea." I press two fingers to the comm with a sigh. "Mr. Stark?"

Nothing.

I quit messing with my web shooter and try again. "Uh… Mr. Stark?"

Static, then a couple words of a clipped conversation.

 _"_ _You're right where I want you."_

Vulture's voice.

A moment's wait.

Mr. Stark's pained gasp dials my heartbeat to one thousand. Energy floods into my aching legs and I bolt back the way I had come, paying no attention to secrecy. As I'm nearing the place that Mr. Stark had left me, I bark at Karen through my mask. "Karen, take me to the airport stat!"

"Right away, Peter."

The location blinks into my own heads-up-display, naught but a few blocks away. Buildings, large and small alike, streak past me and my feet blur on the pavement. The alley I'd taken cuts off and I spin around the corner to find a busy street piling with colored vehicles and spiraling headlights. A horn shrieks somewhere nearby– a car horn. Lights dance off my Spidey suit and a fist whirls like a lasso out of a window.

"Hey! Off the road, Halloween Clown!"

Contrary to my usual actions following a civilian mistake, I don't stop to apologize and dash away. Through my panting, I get a couple words out to no one in particular. "Man, now would be a great time to climb on walls."

"Peter, may I remind you that, due to the reverse spider bite, you cannot climb on– ."

"I know, Karen!" I duck into a side street to wait out a dizzy spell, then continue with more ferocity than before and ram two fingers to my comm. "Mr. Stark, can you hear me?"

Instead, Karen answers with an update. "Peter, I've just received news from Jarvis."

I tilt my head upward. The airport! Finally… "Yeah, shoot!"

"Mr. Stark has been attacked by Adrian Toomes and is weakening fast. His arc reactor core has sustained large amounts of damage. He had taken his suit off earlier, but upon putting it back on, found it unresponsive."

My stomach clenches in a tight knot. A precarious ledge on the side of a house catches my eye and I fiddle with my web shooters. "Well, Mr. Stark needs my help." A few web-slinging seconds later, I'm landing on top of an apartment building, barely able to keep the whole world from rocking out of control. My arms throb as if I'd stuck them in an oven, my wrists more so. I start to stand up and everything splits in my vision. I clutch a nearby trashcan to steady myself. _Ugh, I can't save Mr. Stark now… What am I going to–_

"Give it up, Stark! You're done."

Vulture's echoing speech jerks my head up.

There. One building away. Toomes. And at his feet…

Mr. Stark, his suit flickering on and off like a dying lightbulb.

No…

"Y'know, Bird Brain…not a great plan." Mr. Stark fights to struggle to his feet but a heel to his already-broken chest plate brings him to the ground again.

"Stop stalling. Where's Peter?"

"That's not within my ability at the moment, sorry to tell you." Mr. Stark groans.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Toomes leans in, putting his entire weight on my mentor. "Thanks for nothing, Stark." With one shove, he sends Mr. Stark toppling off the building in a free fall.

I don't think twice about it. Breaking into a run, I cross the next apartment and pitch myself off the edge. The breeze rips at my suit. Mr. Stark's wind-whipped form plummets like a stone in water and, as I'm finalizing my decision, everything slows down.

One web fired. Stuck to the side of the building.

Another web fired, this time at Mr. Stark.

All connected.

The pavement threatens. Closer, closer, closer… The webs aren't catching…

Time.

Stands.

Still.

The street lurches away from us and the web yanks taut. My shoulder pops with a burst of agony and I let go, crying out. Mr. Stark and I tumble in a heap to the ground. Adrenaline zaps through my veins and drags me to my feet. My right arm hangs in an awkward angle, bringing up the pain from earlier.

"Kid– ."

I pivot at Mr. Stark's voice and rush over to him. "Mr. Stark! Are-are you okay?" I help him to a sitting position, however, withdraw with a gasp when I notice puddles of blood dampening his clothes. "You're-you're bleeding…!"

Mr. Stark waves me away and shifts his position. "No, I'll be okay, kid, I just– ." He breaks off with a shaky exhale and all color drains from his sweaty face. "Bird Brain stuck a toothpick in me…"

A stab of worry gets my body sweating enough to fill an ocean. I pry off my mask. "What-what should I do, Mr. Stark?"

My mentor opens his mouth to reply, but a rasping cough sends blood trickling down his chin. "J-Jarvis…!"

No response.

Mr. Stark blinks hard. "Jarvis!" The suit cocooned in broken pieces around him goes dark without the faintest sound of Jarvis's smooth voice. Sparks crackle around the hinges of the breastplate. The arc reactor is silent and devoid of the life-giving energy that commonly flows through its skeleton.

My mouth streaks dry. The reactor… It's shut down.

Mr. Stark doesn't have much time left. It's only a matter of time before his heart…

Stops.

My breathing speeds up. My chest constricts. The noises of the world start to shrivel into the background as Mr. Stark's icy reactor locks itself in my vision. My skin prickles with heat. My hands shake.

Mr. Stark's mouth is moving. No words reach me.

The image of his lifeless body hooks onto my mind like a claw. Scratching, cracking, ripping open my skull–

"Kid!"

I jolt into reality.

"Don't panic on me, kid." Mr. Stark's chalky face moves into view. "You okay…?"

I catch my breath, nodding. Averting my gaze, I notice with a twist in my chest that I'd crumpled my mask in my fists. "What should I do, Mr. Stark? How can I help?"

Mr. Stark wheezes and bends over to reconnect a wire on his armor.

A massive crunch from behind tears through the pavement.

I dart around with a shriek, clutching my right arm.

Within the snake-like scars in the road twitch giant, metal talons. Adrian Toomes, who looms over us like a hawk poised to strike, is the waking image of my nightmare, the rusty hinges of his wingsuit creaking with dried blood. Behind the goggles, amid the shadowed fog of the night, two sunken eyes stare like an undead skeleton. Steady. Unblinking. Vengeful.

"Hey, Pedro."

Mr. Stark's jaw tightens. "Peter– ."

Vulture lunges. Cold metal slams me against a brick wall. Cold claws slice through my suit and cut deep into my flesh. Cold wings close in and drape a blanket of shadow over us.

Through the pitch-darkness, words curled in twilight frost rasp into being.

"This is for taking everything away from me."

The barrel of a gun presses into my forehead so hard it draws blood.

 _Click._

A outburst of fire launches my world into an orange haze.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I'll leave it at that...


	38. Chapter 37 - Fear In Ice And Fire

And of course, _this_ chapter takes less than a day to write while the last chapter took a month...

ANYWAY–

This is one of my favorite chapters to date. So many of the chapters recently have been so good, so fun to write, so emotional... This chapter made me stop multiple times because I had to take a moment to compose myself from loving my own writing so much. This chapter has SO much emotion, SO many great dialogue moments, and SO many emotionally struggling people. YAY!

This chapter is very special to me in so many ways.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven - Fear In Ice And Fire

"Peggy…this is my choice."

Ice. Freezing wind. Snowflakes spitting through a broken window.

"Peggy?"

Static.

"I'm here."

I grit my teeth. More tears fall. "I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."

A pause.

"All right. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club."

Ice. Freezing wind. Snowflakes.

I can't breathe.

"You got it."

Tears run down my cheeks.

"Eight o' clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?"

"You know, I still don't know how to dance."

"I'll show you how. Just be there."

The sheet of ice gets closer. Closer.

"We'll have the band play something slow."

Closer.

"I'd hate to step on your– ."

Static.

I jerk up in bed.

The blankets are twisted so tightly around my chest that I can't breathe.

I yank the covers off.

The window's open. I'm freezing. Every gasping breath exits as a puff of vapor. My clothes are so drenched with my own sweat that I feel as if I'd just jumped into the Atlantic.

The world sways and I grip the bedpost.

 _Okay. That was a nightmare. It wasn't real. Not real. Not real. It's fine. I'm fine._

The thundercloud of emotions massing in my brain says otherwise.

I shoot to my feet, burying my hands in my hair.

Every breath hurts.

Peggy…

Why?

Why her? Why me?

 _Just a nightmare._

I mutter a curse.

Peggy's voice. Her face. Her words… I can't get her out of my head.

Not now, not ever. Not after that. After…

 _Just a nightmare._

Shaking myself, I turn toward the mirror and grab the comb, knocking off a glass in the process. I raise my arms to brush my hair back when I notice that I'm trembling. Hard. Instead of prevailing, I let the comb clatter to the ground and lean against the dresser with my head down.

That wasn't just a nightmare. It was real. And she's gone.

Forever.

I raise my head at such a slow speed that I can feel the muscles rippling under my skin. Staring back at me is…me. I'm supposed to be America's hero. I'm supposed to represent honor and bravery. Sacrifice and strength. But instead…every imperfection is clearer than the moonlight from the window. My bloodshot eyes, ringed with dark circles. My unkempt mess of hair. The dirt on my neck. The sweat gleaming on my crumpled forehead. I drop my chin again, this time to my hands. My thick, calloused hands.

 _"_ _We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own."_

Really? Is that still true? Was it ever?

My hands have helped others, yes, but they've also been the giver of death on more than a few occasions.

 _"_ _With everybody you've hurt and broken and killed, are you worthy of her love?"_

Tony…

 _"_ _You didn't deserve her. You never did. You were skinny and weak. Nothing's changed."_

He's right. I _didn't_ deserve her. Maybe I never did.

I didn't deserve it. Not the serum, not her, not…not any of it.

Not any of it.

A gentle tapping on the door startles me from my thoughts.

I turn toward the entrance. _Who…? Bucky?_

"Yeah– ." My voice breaks and I clear my throat. "Yeah, come in."

Sam pokes his head into the room.

My eyebrows skyrocket. "Sam? What are you doing up so late? It's– ." I whirl around, searching for the clock. "It's one o' clock in the morning, Sam. Go back to sleep."

Sam slips in and shuts the door. "You think I'd be able to now after seeing you like this?"

I catch my breath and steal a glance at the mirror. "That bad, huh?"

Sam crosses his arms, holding my gaze. "You look like a raccoon got in a fight with the ocean."

Natasha's remark from a couple days ago pushes to the surface. _"Sam's probably going to compare you to a raccoon."_ I roll my eyes.

My friend stalks forward and peers over the side of the dresser. "Ah. So that's what I heard."

I follow his direction to find a glass lying broken on the carpet. My jaw tightens. "I'm sorry, Sam… I didn't even hear it break."

He backs up. "Speaking of which, what's wrong, man? Why're _you_ up so late?"

"Sam, just-just go back to sleep." I pick up my fallen pillow and hurl it back to its original position. "I'm fine. "

"Yeah, I can see that. You're distraught, angry, and up in the middle of the night. That looks about fine to me. But if you don't stop playing the hero game and tell me why the heck you're up at one in the morning, then I'm grabbing your suit and shoving it deep into a pile of sh– !"

"Okay, okay!" I fumble with the bedcovers. "The past, it's…" energy drains from my limbs and I collapse onto the mattress, "hitting me hard tonight. More than usual."

I can't see Sam's face, but I can picture his soft expression by the sound of his voice:

"Nightmares? Again?"

I blink away tears. "Yeah."

Silence.

"Were they about her?"

I swing my legs up and stomp out of the room, grabbing my sweatshirt on the way out.

"Hey, Steve!"

"I'm going for a walk. It's too early to talk about this."

"No, Steve– we have time, we can work it out!"

I stop dead. That line…

 _"_ _Please, don't do this. We have time. We can work it out."_

There's no time. No time. Not enough time.

I whip around at the hand on my shoulder.

"Whoa, easy there." His eyes dig into mine. "You okay, man?"

My chest heaves with each gulp of air. "Please, Sam, don't make me talk about this now. I wont. I can't. I'm taking a walk. Don't try and stop me."

"Then at least let me come with you."

I examine my friend's anxious face a few times, then surrender to a weary smile. "Thank you, Sam. Thank you."

* * *

Sam leaves me in my room to fix lunch after our late-morning workout. I watch him close the door and turn my attention to cleaning the glass from earlier. Despite all the conversations he'd stuffed into my head, the emotions from the nightmare remain.

The glass collects in the dustpan and I carry it to the trashcan just as someone knocks on the door for the second time that day.

"Come in."

Natasha's hair pops with vibrant color as she peeks in. "Steve, Fury wants us in the front."

"Us?"

"You and Bucky. He said I could come too."

"Hmm." I set the brush and dustpan down. "All right, I'm on my way."

Natasha matches me stride for stride.

"Why didn't Jarvis send for me instead?"

"Fury wanted to make sure you'd come. You're not exactly about to follow an order from a guy you don't trust."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

Natasha and I meet Bucky and Nick outside in front of a Quinjet gleaming with polished vibranium. The jet glitters against the sun like my shield fresh from Camp Lehigh. I greet Fury with a nod. "Nick."

"Captain." He addresses the others in similar fashion. "I've come to talk to you about a little trip that we might take together."

I tense. "What's it about?"

"HYDRA."

Bucky perks up. "What do you mean?"

"I've been in contact with the rest of SHIELD and they've informed me that they might've found the location of an old base we could check out. It would only take a couple days and it would be a great time to try out this new, enhanced Quinjet here." He gestures to his blinding handiwork. "Barnes? Rogers? You in?"

I rub my chin, muttering to myself. "A couple days… Old base… It's worth a shot."

Bucky agrees.

Natasha fidgets and clears her throat. "You said only a few days, right?"

"That's correct, Romanoff."

Nat shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Would you take me along?"

Nick shrugs. "We could use your talents, Agent. Welcome aboard. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get ready for our adventure. Pack up soon– I want to leave within the hour." He strolls back to the Quinjet with his hands wrapped neatly behind his back.

Natasha sighs, biting her lip.

I move in front of her. "What is it?"

"Clint needs a few days without me. Desperately."

A flash of panic jabs me in the chest. "Why? What's wrong? Is he okay?"

"He's…he's gotten clingy."

I cock my head. "Wait, what? What do you mean?"

"He's worried about me all the time. So worried that he barely leaves me alone for even a few minutes. His worry is even interrupting his sleep patterns. He asks me if I'm okay over and over again. He's always on his guard, he…" Nat shakes her head and rubs her temples.

I place a hand on her shoulder. "He's just terrified of losing you."

Natasha hits me with a steely glare. "That doesn't change the fact that he thinks I'm in mortal danger every waking minute. I can take care of myself."

I back up, allowing her space. "So how'd you tear yourself away from him today?"

"I ordered him to go see Bruce. But he'll probably be out here soon enough anyway. I'm just…" she flicks her hair from her eyes, "not looking forward to saying goodbye…"

* * *

I tie my red hair into a braid and haul my luggage out of the compound. In the distance, Steve tosses his multi-day pack onto the Quinjet and slaps Bucky on the shoulder, muttering a couple words that result in his friend laughing. Fury catches them both for a quick briefing, which I ignore as I fill a pocket of the Quinjet with my bags. Bucky notices me exiting the plane and grins. I'm about to do the same when a solitary figure outside Headquarters freezes me in my tracks.

Clint.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten my back and stride over to him. As I approach, his eyes carve deeper and deeper into me, spasming through different emotions. I don't flinch at all.

His hands ball into fists. "Don't do this."

I clench my jaw. "I'm leaving. Don't try and stop me."

"Why?"

"You know why." I bridge the gap between us and take a few more steps toward him. My teeth grind together like knives on knives. "I'm fine. I can take care of myself. I am _not_ your crutch."

"I'm not using you as a– ."

I slap a hand on his chest. "Stop lying. Yes, you are. You need to break out of this-this nightmare, one that screams I'm in danger every minute."

"But you– !"

"No!" I yank my hand from his jacket. "Stop this, Clint." Fire rises in my throat as a yell and I stomp my foot into the concrete. "I'm not fading away, so _stop acting like it!_ "

Clint's face darkens. "I have the chance to save you from death, one that I didn't have with my family."

By now, we're both glaring daggers at one another. "You listen to me, Clint: I can take care of myself!"

"You're the only family I have left– !"

"I'm not useless!"

"I never said you– ."

"I can protect myself, so I'm leaving and that's– !"

"I AM NOT– ," Clint slams his hands onto my shoulders, "LOSING YOU!"

His last two words echo. Over. And over. And over.

We stare at each other, panting.

I'm wide-eyed and speechless.

The shadow passes from Clint's face. He blinks twice, pauses, and crushes me in his arms.

I lay my chin on his shoulder. Clint's shaking in my touch and, from my jolty movements, I know that I am too.

After a couple seconds of pure quiet, Clint's teary voice rises from my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Nat. I'm so sorry, I…I want to make things right. I couldn't save Laura or the children, I wouldn't cooperate, I abandoned you in my depression, I– ."

"Shh… I don't judge people on their worst mistakes."

"Maybe you should."

"Stop it. _You_ didn't. You made my life so much better when you took me in."

"Please stay, Tasha."

My heart breaks at his vulnerable request. But I can't stay.

I rip myself out of his arms and make a run for the Quinjet.

A hand on my wrist stops me. My braid smacks my cheek as I jerk around.

Clint sputters a curse.

"Let me go."

"No." He swallows hard. "Please, no."

I meet his beseeching gaze. "It's okay. I'll be okay, Clint. It's only for a couple days. It'll feel like minutes, I promise you." I try to pull away, but Clint grabs my wrist again.

"Please…"

We exchange a prolonged look.

After an eternity, Clint lets go. Our hands return to our sides, falling softly to our waists.

Clint inches backward, a long exhale shuddering through his body.

I give him one last smile. "See you in a minute."

* * *

OKAY.

THOSE WHO HAVE SEEN ENDGAME (which is probably everybody at this point):

I "hid" some _not-so-subtle_ **DIRECT** references to Endgame in this chapter, particularly the dialogue. Tell me in a review if you noticed it! MWAHAHA!

MAN was this chapter an emotional ride to write...

Read and review!


	39. Chapter Thirty-Eight - Truth In Colors

WOW I'm writing chapters so quickly! But I was so excited about this chapter that I went ahead and wrote it right away!

I'm so excited for people to read this one because so much is revealed... MWAHAHA!

Responding to some reviews...

 **Amethyst Glowburst Goldenwind:** Chill your heck, I'm getting to them! xD

 **Lapis Dawnwing:** I know it was a while ago, but yes, I did get over that Writer's Block! It's cool to have such supportive cousins who read my stuff. :D

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Truth In Colors

I watch the Quinjet power up and soar off, my heart heavy.

 _"See you in a minute."_

What's that supposed to mean? Those couple days are going to feel like years.

The image of her furious eyes is forever burned into my brain. We've had more arguments the past few months then we've ever had. How did it come to this? How did we get so low?

I'm standing there long after the Quinjet's minuscule form disappears amid the clouds. I shiver in the building breeze, but not from the cold. That night…

 _"LAURA!"_

 _A crack of sound like thunder. Fire. White. Red._

A chill curls down my back like a snake.

Those memories… The past…

Still not gone.

But my wife and children are.

And if I lose Natasha…

"You okay, Clint?"

I start at Wanda's meek, little voice from behind me. "Hey, Wanda."

She walks into my field of vision. "Are you?"

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

I lower my focus and choose not to answer.

"Come on… Talk to me."

I throw my hands into the air and begin pacing. "I-I don't know, Wanda, I…really don't know what to do anymore."

"Clint– ."

"I want to feel…like I know what I'm doing, like I have purpose with the Avengers and in this world but…I don't. Not anymore. Nat's the closest thing to family that I have and I'm so afraid to lose her. That's-that's what got me following her around all the time. I didn't pay attention to how much I was hurting her until…now." Tears burn in my throat and threaten to rise. "I just don't know who I am anymore."

I'm greeted with silence.

Of course. I don't know how anyone could respond to that.

A wisp of crimson darts in front of me and a surge of dizziness makes me stumble. When the red in my sight clears, everything's changed.

The compound's gone. Wanda's gone. The old Headquarters lobby shines before me, every seat and couch piled with friends and family members. Tony lounges, taking up an entire couch while babbling on to Rhodey about new suit improvements. Rhodey's nodding his head and making comments every sentence. In front of the two blinks an active hologram. Steve and Sam are huddled around the pool table, poles in their hands and huge smirks on their faces. An opponent throws a verbal piece of trash at them and Sam bites back with a remark that could rival many of Tony's own quips. Maria and Pepper lean against a bar table with drinks in their hands, deep in conversation while their beverages shake in their gestures. Bruce walks past me and claps, winking at me. "Commotion in the other room, Clint, come on."

I follow him to the next room to find a group of people around a coffee table. Thor holds a massive hand in the air.

"Steady, steady, everyone. I've got the perfect idea. Let's play– ," he drops Mjolnir onto the stand, "Try Your Luck."

Bruce volunteers. He fails.

Dozens of others line up to 'try their luck,' but none of them even budge the hammer.

Vision chuckles and plucks the weapon from its place like a baby's toy.

Collective groans surround the android.

At that moment, Steve saunters into the space.

Vision moves to pass the hammer. "Captain Rogers?"

Steve withdraws. "No, not me. We already know who can lift _that_ thing." A strange look exchanges between him and Thor.

Thor scrunches his face and grabs the hammer with a huff.

I nudge Bruce. "Hey, where's Nat?"

"She's not here. She can't make it to every party. Nor would she want to, with Tony doing questionable things at every turn."

"But she could be in trouble!"

Bruce's brow collapses at my anxiety. "Clint, she's entirely capable of taking care of herself. I'm positive you know that. What's wrong?"

I return to the first room and study for Natasha or any of the Bartons, however, my search proves fruitless. Laura or the children probably wouldn't have come to one of Stark's grand parties, but Natasha definitely would have, regardless of Tony's antics. She's gotta be here.

So why can't I find her?

My search doesn't quit. The hunger to see my best friend safe, laughing with the other Avengers, pulls at my feet and soon I'm pelting through every door, every room, every hallway with her name constantly on my lips. Time is meaningless. I don't know how long I'm streaking down the corridors of Stark's mansion, but there comes a point where I know it's hopeless. I've looked everywhere. Still, no sign of her.

My sweaty palm slips from the doorknob and I drop to my knees, panting.

 _What if someone captured her? What if she's trapped somewhere? A party would be the perfect night to take someone hostage. What if she ran off alone and got into a fight?_

I slap myself in an attempt to stop the what-if scenarios. "She's okay. She's got to be. She's not in danger, she's not hurt, she's not captured, she's not gone. Not gone. Not gone. Not– ."

"Aren't you being a bit paranoid, Agent Barton?"

I leap to my feet.

Nick Fury's planted himself in the doorway. He quirks an eyebrow. "Aren't you?"

"Didn't catch that."

"You're too paranoid, Agent." His voice hardens. "Now get down there and have fun with the team."

"Can't. Have to find Tasha."

A flash of red spears through his single eye and he stomps forward. He snaps in front of my nose, locking my attention on him. " _Wake up_ , Agent Barton! Just because Romanoff isn't at _this_ party doesn't mean it ain't fun! You can have a rockin' good time without her. So _get_ down there," he jabs a finger downward, "and live."

* * *

"Clint, it is your turn."

I shake myself from my thoughts.

Vision sits before the chessboard, the white pieces standing erect on his side. One pawn has moved two spaces forward.

"Yeah, sorry. Lost in thought." I budge my game piece and motion for Vision to perform his turn.

"What about?" His delicate fingers select another pawn. "Your move."

I force down a sigh. "What it's always been lately."

"Hmm."

Something lands on the lawn outside the compound with a massive thump.

Sam snaps closed the book he'd been reading. "What in the devil?"

One manipulated silhouette creeps on the edges of Headquarters, cape flying out behind it. Huge, burly arms wiggle in awkward positions at its sides. As it nears the door, Scott and Wanda join the group. Murmurs float through every member of the team and I push to the front to gain better visibility.

The shape moves through both sets of doors and explodes into the compound.

It's Thor.

The tension abates somewhat.

But then…struggling in his arms are two opposite-clad individuals.

A familiar jolt of electricity grinds my heels into the ground.

In one hand, Loki.

In the other, his black cape stained with blood and his scarred face pale…

My mouth drops open. "Nick Fury?"

* * *

I cross my arms, glaring at the SHIELD Director on the medical bed.

"Agent Barton, if looks could kill, I'd be long gone."

Bruce fiddles with a computer. "Stay still, Fury. I need to get these wounds patched up."

"Hang on." Sam's voice barks from across the room. "Aren't we going to ask Thor what in the heck just happened? I need answers."

Thor tromps in, still grasping Loki. "There _is_ a second HYDRA base. And Fury was trapped there. For months."

I grit my teeth. "But Fury just left. With Cap, Barnes, and Nat." _They're not in danger. They're not._

"What do you mean I just left?" Nick strains against the bonds strapping him to the bed. "I'm right here, aren't I? Y'all haven't even told me why I'm all strapped in!"

Bruce pushes him onto the pillows. "Keep still! You'll open your wounds again. I need to make sure you don't do anything rash or that you're not who you seem to be. These are confusing times."

I observe the rest of the team from my place behind the bed.

Vision stands in the corner, attempting to calm Wanda's pacing.

Scott sits in a chair and watches the stressful scene play out before him, wringing his hands.

Sam fiddles with a clipboard of Bruce's, holding it while the doctor is otherwise occupied.

Bruce squints at Thor and Loki. "Are either of you injured?"

Thor shrugs. "Minor scratches here and there. Nothing to fret about."

The doctor wipes his forehead and continues working with a nod of confirmation.

Vision drifts toward the bedside. "Mr. Fury departed a few mere hours ago on a Quinjet with Captain Rogers, Mr. Barnes, and Ms. Romanoff. Yet Thor claims that Fury himself was trapped in captivity for months. The last few months here, may I mention, Fury was present almost every day. Would you care to explain this?"

Nick frowns at Thor.

Thor shrugs. "Fury tried to tell me some mangled version of a story when we were escaping, but I only heard half of it."

Sam pokes his bulging bicep. "Care to tell us?"

Thor grinds his heel into the floor. "I'll let him tell you himself, however, I shall explain my plight. So, I go to Asgard, thinking all is well. What do I find, but Odin locked in the dungeon, stripped of his power, and Loki on the throne!"

Sam clears his throat. "Is this the Loki guy from New York I've heard so much about?"

Thor dips his head. "This is indeed Loki. God of Mischief, my adopted brother, and," he whacks Loki against the wall and glowers, "the most devious liar in the galaxy. Because of Heimdall, he's had the knowledge for months that Fury had been captured, but did nothing."

Loki chuckles in Thor's hold. "If I may, brother… To interfere would tear a hole in my most glorious ru– ."

Thor squeezes harder. "Shut up, Loki."

My wary gaze wanders to the green-clad God of Mischief. A memory surfaces of mindless hunting. Mechanical deeds. Loki's bewitching blue eyes as he's ordering me about. How many innocents had I landed in the hospital because of actions that I'd not even been in control of? How many funerals had I unintentionally set into motion?

Thor startles me from my thoughts by continuing the story. "Anyway, I forced him to guide me to the location and he helped us penetrate the security in the HYDRA base. It was quite difficult, but Loki made it work. Fury had been isolated from everyone else in the back of the base, so he says. Very few interactions. He'd been patted down and every weapon and device taken from him. If it weren't for us, he would've still been bleeding there in jail. But still…it's going to take a bit more explaining to convince this god that the _other_ Nick is what they call…what was it?"

Loki's lips glide into a mischievous grin. "Chameleon."

I exchange a glance with Wanda. "Nick told us about Chameleon in a meeting."

Nick scratches his chin. "He's good at his job. I can prove that I'm not Chameleon."

Bruce pauses. "Quit moving, Fury! I'm trying to bandage your injuries."

Wanda steps up. "And this…Chameleon…just so happens to look exactly like you?"

"He's a shape shifter. Took my form for months to trick the team. From what it looks like and what I've heard, he did a real good job of it."

"All right." I grip the edge of the bed and find a seat nearby. "Prove you're not him."

Nick struggles to sit up. "I'll start from the beginning then."

By now, everyone's gathered in the small medical room. The air is thick with quiet figures and Nick has a dozen pairs of eyes locked on him.

"So it all started with an audio comm. Chameleon came to taunt me in the prison the day I was captured. In secret, I stuck a comm on his communicator so I could hear every conversation that ever took place through and around that device. In that way, I got access to every plan that was prepared and every action or mission that was done. But, to my dismay, I couldn't do anything else, for HYDRA's security and method of secrecy is extremely hidden and specialized. I could only listen and do nothing. Watch and wait."

Scott raises his hand as if in a school classroom. "Um, Mr. Fury… If you were able to put a comm into a super bad guy, how could you not escape on your own?"

"That is a great question, Mr. Lang. I learned something about Chameleon the day he came to see me. Once Chameleon believes he's won, he'll throw away the need to hide. When I was captured, he considered that winning. So he disobeyed his top commander's orders, I assume, and visited me. That's when I planted the comm on his communicator. It was on his belt, so I tackled him. Because of this, they thought it was my desperation to escape and rendered me unable to move through torture and medical injections alike. Kept me sleeping or bleeding. However, I suppose I should continue with the _real_ story.

"Chameleon's first mission took place in…" he spares a quick, unreadable look at me, "couple miles west of Hill City, South Dakota."

I freeze.

Wait.

South Dakota. Hill City.

Laura. Cooper. Lila. Nathaniel.

My family.

The tank.

My heartbeat climbs upward. I clench my fists in an attempt to stop them from trembling. "So it was him."

Nick's voice is wreathed with a soft sympathy. "Yes, Agent. It was."

 _My family's dead because of him. Because of him. Of Chameleon. Chameleon._

I jerk my head up, struck with an idea. "I suppose you would know. Because you're Chameleon." My body grows hot and I shoot to my feet.

"No, Barton, I'm not– ."

"Liar!" I lunge forward, but strong arms grapple me back.

"Clint, NO!" Sam's words bark in my ear.

"Let me go! It's him, he killed my family!"

"You don't know that!"

"But he– ."

"Agent Barton!" Nick's roar startles us into silence. "I can prove to you that I'm not Chameleon. But I'll need your attention for a little longer."

I'm panting hard, my chest straining for breath against Sam's grip.

"May I continue, Agent?"

My surge of emotion not yet spent, I break out of Sam's arms like freeing myself from chains and trudge over a seat in the corner of the room.

Nick continues his story. "Clint didn't die with his family because Chameleon took him from the flames and brought him back _knowing_ his physical and future emotional state would break the team. And, judging by what I heard, it sure did."

I fidget in my seat. "So if he hadn't moved me from the fire…then I would've died too."

"Yes, Agent, that's correct. In a way, he saved you."

I clutch the arms of the chair, a sudden weakness flooding over me. "No, he didn't. He didn't."

Scott prods a question. "But-but he showed you mercy…kind of… Right?"

My spine snaps together as I go rigid. A wave of heat washes over my mind. "You call that mercy? _Mercy?_ " My fingertips turn white on the chair.

The room falls silent.

I break contact with Scott and let my thoughts run off the road.

We weren't really in control after all.

I'm a pawn. Everything about me was. And is.

My wounds. My anger. My depression. My _presence._

All pawns.

The entire team is a chessboard of pawns and HYDRA's been on top the whole time.

"HYDRA's final plan is to separate the team in groups and pick you off one by one. Digg did his job of misdirection. He's already succeeded in separating Stark and Parker, so we need to get them back as quickly as possible. And, from what you're telling me, Rogers, Barnes, and Romanoff are already gone."

I purse my lips. "Yeah."

"A few days ago, my comm was noticed and I lost the connection. So I'm off the schedule. Then drugged me again when they found it."

Scott taps his foot on the tile. "Aren't you supposed to prove you're not this Chameleon guy?"

I perk up.

"Ahh. Right. Jarvis!" Nick cracks his neck with a grunt.

"Yes, Director Fury?"

"Do you have footage of Fury and Parker from a month ago?"

"Let me review my archives."

A minute passes.

"I've found one result. Would you like me to hologram it on the wall?"

Nick motions to the others to watch. "Yes, do it."

A video file winks up onto the wall:

Nick huddles over a device– the communicator, probably– and murmurs into it. "I understand, but we need to wait."

A crackly sentence answers. "We will be waiting. We're waiting for you. You're taking too long."

Peter sneaks along the side of the compound.

"Don't you worry, I'm know what I'm supposed to do." Fury ends the call.

Parker clears his throat.

Nick whirls around, but quickly regains his composure.

"What are you doing out here so early, Mr. Fury?"

"Oh, hello, Spiderman. I was just finishing up a call with an agent of mine. She's on a mission for me."

"I'll let you get back to whatever work you need to do." Peter scampers off.

The video turns off.

Nick wiggles on the medical bed, sloughing off the blanket. "I heard that conversation myself from the comm, which can pick up conversations even when calls are ended. And I have even more evidence. Jarvis?"

"Yes?"

"Take a screenshot of Nick's face from that conversation and zoom in."

"Just a moment."

As promised, in one second, an image pops up of Fury's face, magnified and in HD detail.

Sam rolls his eyes. "How is a picture like that supposed to convince us even more?"

Nick folds his eyepatch back to uncover a foggy, glazed eye, the diagonal scars running through the pupil. "Scars." He points to the photo. "No scars. Chameleon can't copy things like that. Okay, then. Confirmed. I'm not Chameleon. Y'all believe me?"

I scan the room. The team's nodding and, to my surprise, I am too. However, a nagging chill sweeps through my stomach. "So, Fury. If you're not Chameleon, that means the…other Nick is."

Vision's cape glistens in the fading sunset. "And that also means that Captain Rogers, Mr. Barnes, and Ms. Romanoff are in a jet with an agent of HYDRA."

A huge shudder wracks my limbs. _I knew it. They're gone._

Bruce swipes perspiration from his forehead. "Where is he taking them?"

Nick sighs. "To the second HYDRA base."

I stiffen. "Rhodes searched Siberia. He found nothing."

"You weren't looking in the right place." Nick flicks a finger downward. "It's _underwater._ And, because of their Wakandan associate, Digg, they had access to massive shipments of vibranium. He's so two-faced that he got away with it. The entire base is reinforced with it. No one can get in. Not even Vision or Thor."

"Then how'd _you_ get in?" My inquiry to Thor exits with more venom then I'd intended and I catch some of the team flinch.

"Loki. And even with him, we barely got past the loads of security. They won't let anyone in now. They've increased their guards, secrecy, and staff. It's suicide to try again."

I smack my hands on my thighs and get up. "We can attack the Quinjet. Get them out. Get them home. Get them _safe_."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Agent Barton. Not so fast." Nick twists and winces. "The Quinjet's been reinforced as well. There's nothing we can do for them now."

The full force of what he's saying hits me like a wave.

 _There's nothing we can do. Nothing we can do. Nat's in danger. Terrible danger. And I can't save her._ I sink back into the chair. Wanda's stroking my arm and muttering something. It's Nick's voice that tears me from my trance.

"Actually, we could try call them on the Quinjet. We can do it even in Stealth Mode. We'll have to contact Stark anyway, so we might as well."

I stagger to a standing position at once.

"Dr. Banner, get the communicator up and running. Send Stark a call. Tell him to come back."

Bruce hesitates.

"Don't worry about me, Doctor. Go make that call!"

The doctor departs and returns minutes later with a square-shaped box of tech. He presses a few buttons. A light clicks on.

Sam leans in. "What's going on?"

Bruce adjusts his glasses. "Audio message. Hey, Tony. We've got a situation. You know the Nick that's been with us for the past two or three months? It's not him. It was Chameleon all along. We were tricked and we're just pawns in their game. Natasha, Bucky, and Cap are being captured. You need to get back here as quickly as possible so we can figure out our next move should be. Thanks. Bruce and the team."

Sam's finger bounces on his bicep. "Why'd you send an audio message?"

"His suit isn't connected for some reason. He'll get it when it's reconnected, but…until then, we're not getting any help from Tony." Bruce clatters the communicator onto a nearby table. "It's a dead case."

I inch closer to Nick. "What about Natasha? And Cap and Barnes?"

"Were getting to that, Agent. Calm down." Fury tilts his head toward the communicator. "Anyone?"

I snatch it up before anyone else has a chance to do so. After Bruce advises me how to make the call, we're all waiting as the blue circles indicate the connection. "Has it reached the Quinjet?"

Nick covers his scratched eye. "That thing may be old, but yeah, it has. Its distance is long."

A moment later, the call is denied.

"Welp, looks like Chameleon just shut you out."

I whip around. "Can we do anything?"

"Not that I know of."

"Nat– !"

"Agent. I want to get them out as much as you do. But we can't." Fury wheels the IV pole away. "And there's one more thing I want to tell you, Barton. About HYDRA." Despite Bruce's complaints, he limps out of bed and toward me. "Alone."

The others file out the door and shut it behind them.

"What's this about?" The gleam in Fury's gaze…

"HYDRA… I said they're going to scratch you guys off the list. One by one. And I happen to know their next target."

Whether it's in my mind or not, the lightbulbs flicker ever so slightly.

"You."

A sudden bout of nausea has me groping for the arm of the chair.

"Clint. _You_ are HYDRA's next target. _You_ are the next to die."

* * *

Natasha removes her palm from my red, white, and blue shield as a beeping sound fills the Quinjet. "What's that?"

"I'm not sure."

Nick ushers us into the main room. "It's a call from Headquarters, Captain."

I squint to catch the name under the hologram. "It's Clint."

The red-haired assassin pounces forward. "It's Clint! Answer it! He could be in trouble."

Fury twirls his seat around and blocks her way. "Now, now, Romanoff. Don't get too eager." He reaches over to the control table and blocks the connection.

Natasha steps backward and puts a hand on her gun's trigger.

I latch my shield to my suit, every muscle taut. "How much longer until the old base, Fury?"

Bucky brushes a strand of dark hair from his face to hide his emotions, but his straight back and working jaw tell me everything.

"Oh, we won't be going there anymore, Captain. We're changing courses. I thought you might like a little vacation." The Director's tone changes. Instead of drawling out with Nick's iconic accent, it's taken on a new sound. Smooth, but robotic. Deep, but icy. It was as if a snake had taken over his persona and was slithering from his throat, hissing and spitting words with such venom that the poison dribbles from his lips. "Surprised, Captain?"

Without a second thought, I ram my shield's side into the door of the Quinjet, expecting the defense weapon to cut through the lesser metal. Instead, it's the clang of vibranium against vibranium and a massive vibration runs up my arm. A similar sound from the opposite side proves that Bucky's tried the same tactic with his metal arm.

A sudden memory with Tony and I fills my belly with burning coals.

 _"What was Nick here for?"_

 _"He wanted to know whether he could put vibranium stuff on the Quinjet."_

 _"The main Quinjet? The one we always use?"_

 _"Yeah. That one."_

 _"Tony, are you sure that's such a good idea?"_

 _"Why not?"_

Wow. Great idea, Tony.

"You see, Captain? Not even your mighty shield can break you out of this one."

I run my fingers down my long-famous shield. _Gods, why did Tony have to agree to Nick's decision…?_

"What, you're not used to being outsmarted?" Nick– or whoever he is– switches the light level to the lowest setting. "I've captured Captain America, the Winter Soldier, and Black Widow all at once. No one thought that was possible…"

"Not yet you haven't!" I cock my arm to launch my shield.

Three figures coalesce from the shadows and leap on us, pinning us to the wall like spiders in a web.

Nick's ghastly form, silhouetted against the afternoon sunlight, ripples. His bald skull melts away, his flesh oozing and peeling from his bones. For a millisecond, the shriveling skin reveals a skeleton's broken face. His clothes fall away and turn to ash as they hit the ground, then suction back onto the drooping cartilage. Fresh layers of black and purple curl over his thin frame. They spiral up the legs and arms and chest to form a skintight suit, alight with darkness. Lines of violet scale like veins through the fabric, glowing faintly. Between his chest and stomach is a circular, reactor-looking contraption similar to a belt. From it, the trails of purple extract. A mask covers his features, as dark and smooth as an empty gravestone. Four openings spear through the bottom and two eyeholes are separated by a contour line down the middle. His eyes are glassy and sightless, like a half-rotted corpse.

Bucky's frozen in place. "Who…are you?"

"You see…this…is my true form."

Every word of his is like a sliver of glass, piercing sharper and sharper into my skin. Brittle. Gravelly. Toneless.

"This…is…Chameleon."

Natasha strains forward against the men holding us captive. "What do you want?"

Chameleon slips a gun from a hoister on his leg and scrutinizes it. "What do I want? It's what _they_ want. I'm doing my job." He cocks the gun and flexes trigger-happy fingers. "They want you. And they want _him_ back."

I throw a glance at Natasha. "Who?"

Chameleon's black eyes smile at me. He points the gun– in Bucky's direction. "The monster."

In a burst of blood and smoke, the gun fires. Bucky doubles over with a cry.

Everything's a blur.

People screaming. Feet shuffling. Fighting. Grabbing me.

Something falls by my toe. A canister. Green fog spills from the top.

Natasha's pulled from my side. Bucky's swinging his metal limb. Chameleon's whispering.

The green fog stings my eyes and clouds the room.

My mind numbs. I'm thinking slower.

Slower.

Slower…

The last thing I hear before everything fades out is a maniacal laugh and three, static-filled words through a communicator:

"Well done, Chameleon."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** MWAHAHAHAHAAAAAA! FINALLY Chameleon's been revealed! I know some people in the reviews have said that they didn't trust Nick and that he was suspicious, well, now you know why! YAY! It makes me so happy to see people the reviews voicing their suspicious and then I'm just giggling behind the screen because I know all the secrets and whether you're right or not. xD

Read and review!


	40. Chapter 39 - Plan Toward The Roses

I had a teeeeensy bit a struggle getting through this chapter, but I loved writing it overall! I've got some nice Peter-stress in here, a subtle hint of a new character introduction, and wound conversations... Hmmmm... Whatever could that mean...?

I'll stop talking and let you read this chapter.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine - Plan Toward The Roses

A blast of flame knocks Vulture from his looming place over me and sends him flying to the edge of the street.

"Peter!" Mr. Stark, wincing, staggers to his feet.

I notice with a jolt in my belly that the action worsens the blood flow of his wounds. "Mr. Stark– ."

"Not now, kid…" Mr. Stark grits his teeth and lowers an open contraption at his shoulder. "I shot all the missiles I had on Bird Brain…but that blast is gonna send all the police units swarming like wasps to this place– ." He breaks off with a cough and more red trails trickle down his chin. "Come on, Pete. I got this suit working on Emergency Backup Power, so let's bust outta here."

"H-how?" I cradle my dislocated arm.

"Flying." My mentor hobbles forward and hugs me to his chest

I put on my mask before he blasts into the sky.

The repulsors sputter out a stream of sparks. At the edge of the city, Jarvis flutters on with a dying voice:

"S-sir, the Emergency Backup Power is…de-depleting… I-I must…"

"Jarvis, hold on." Mr. Stark groans from under the helmet, banking slightly to the left. He gasps, his raspy voice tight with pain. "Stay with me, buddy. Just a little…longer."

"G-goodnight, sir…"

"Jarvis!"

The suit goes dark and we plummet toward the ground.

I crush my arms around Mr. Stark's chest and hold back a shriek.

We're falling.

Together.

The wind roars and screams around me, slashing through my hair.

Mr. Stark yells something.

We're falling. Faster. Faster.

The ground approaches.

One second. Two seconds.

A puff of energy jerks us to a stop for half a second, a couple feet from the grass. We topple in a tangle of sparks and webs on the lawn.

Lying on my back and groaning, I blink into the starry sky and struggle to focus. My shoulders sting with the fury of a salted wound as the gashes from Vulture's talons bleed into the lawn. I try to get up. The gasp of pain hitches in my throat and I'm brought back down amid a coughing fit.

Everything's going dark.

With failing strength, I twist my head to the side and spot Mr. Stark on his stomach, unmoving.

Then I go limp and the black tide engulfs me.

Darkness.

* * *

Something squeezes my bruised sides and a flare of pain brings my mind halfway to awakening. I grit my teeth, moaning.

"Mom, you're hurting him."

The sweet, compassionate voice rouses my memories.

 _Hold on… Who…?_

"I need to bandage him up, honey. Spiderman ain't gettin' better on his own."

The second tone is older, but tickles another recollection.

 _These voices… Why are they so familiar?_

"When is he going to wake up?"

Someone sighs. "Can't say. Both of 'em were out cold."

 _Both of them? You mean…Mr. Stark and I?_

"They're lucky I'm a doctor, otherwise they would've bled out a long time ago."

By now, I'm fully awake and listening to the conversation around me. My tired brain works on piecing together the two identities. _I'm so close…_

"Did you call Midtown Tech and let them know you can't make it?"

"Mmm-hmm."

 _Midtown Tech! So the first person…_

 _"_ _A rebellious group activity the day before competition is good for morale."_

 _Wait… Liz?_

I flutter my eyes open, clearing my surroundings with a couple more blinks. Liz's face materializes off to the side and her smile widens when she notices me conscious.

"Liz…?" My own voice is thick with sleep and pain.

She blushes. "Hi, Peter."

"What are you…doing here?"

Her mom pokes her head into my vision. "I think the real question is: what are _you_ doing _here_? Aren't y'all supposed to be at the capital with Midtown?"

I flinch at an ache in my shoulders as I shift my position. "Mr. Stark and I had an…" I swallow with difficulty. _She can't know._ "An errand. Mr. Stark and I had to do an errand and it went…badly. I can– ."

"Peter… You don't have to hide it from me anymore."

I squint at Liz. "Wh-what? What do you mean?"

"Do you think I didn't guess when you two dropped, bleeding, onto our lawn? Your suit… It all makes so much more sense now."

"I'm-I'm not– Liz, I can't be… I'm not Spiderman."

"Please don't try to hide it."

I jolt upward. "Nobody can know!" Biting back a grunt of pain, I hold her gaze. "Not even you."

Liz's mom pushes me down onto a load of pillows. "If you keep moving like that, Peter, you're going to open up your wounds again."

Liz crosses her arms and chews at her lip. "Then why does Ned know?"

I raise my eyebrows.

"I'm not dumb, Peter."

"I never said you– ."

"The way he acts around you, the way he talks, how you two have secret conversations in the hallways… I noticed. Maybe other people didn't. I did."

"He…found out. One day. By accident." I stare at the ceiling. "Besides, it's different now. The word _can't_ spread." I mumble under my breath. "I'm in enough danger already."

"What?"

"I'm being hunted."

Liz shudders. "I think I know who."

I avert my gaze.

"Dad?"

"Yeah. He's not stopping. Wants me more than ever now."

Liz moistens her lips and ducks her head, sniffing.

"So…" My fingers stroke the couch fabric."What happened? I don't remember much. Only…falling. And passing out."

Liz's mom pulls away from me and sits on a stool beside her daughter. "Liz had just gotten up to get ready for Decathlon. Earlier than needed, of course, but that's her. She thought she heard something landing in the backyard. She went to look and…there you two were, bloody, on the grass. You were unresponsive, no matter how many times we tried. And when Liz took your mask off she almost had a heart attack."

Liz's cheeks flood red and she becomes over-invested in fixing her hair.

"I've been treating you both since we brought you in yesterday. It's been a mighty interesting day, let me tell you, to have Spiderman and Iron Man bleeding in our backyard." Mrs. Toomes hands Liz her stool. "Speaking of which, I'd best go check on him."

I attempt to sit up at once, ignoring Liz's complaints. "Where is he? Is he okay? Is he hurt badly? Can I– ?"

"Calm down, Peter. He's fine. He's in the guest room upstairs. I was able to stop all the bleeding before he went into shock. A bit of ointment, rest, and care and he'll be back to himself in no time." She makes it halfway across the room before she turns back to us. "I'll leave you two alone for a sec."

Heat sizzles in my skin as she strolls out of the living room. The silence stretches out for what feels like hours as we sit across from each other, hands wringing, stomachs churning, faces reddening.

"Peter…?"

"Hmm?"

"The ATM robbery. Washington. All of that…was you?"

I catch my breath. "Uh…yeah. Really changes everything, doesn't it?"

"It really does! I mean…I never would've thought… Well, now that I know, it kind of seems obvious– ."

"Is it?"

"A little bit! But you're a completely different person as Spiderman. Not awkward or stuttering– !"

"Wow, thanks."

"I'm serious! It's incredible! How do you do it?"

"I don't even know, I just…do. I'm used to the powers now– ."

"Can you shoot lasers?"

"No."

"Spin web patterns?"

"No, but I can shoot webs."

"Do you spit venom?"

"No."

"Do you have six other hidden limbs somewhere?"

I smirk. "No."

Liz giggles. "Wow, your variety isn't like Iron Man's."

I roll my eyes. "And I'm _glad_. All that tech and those holograms… I'd go blind with all the lights spinning around me."

"Y'know what?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to see Spiderman do a TED Talk."

Laughter bursts from my chest. "Now _that_ would be something. You write my monologue."

"It's your TED Talk! You plan it!"

"Uh-huh. _Sure._ " My spirits elevate higher than they'd been for months. I almost get to enjoy it before a sudden thought of Mr. Stark's health brings it back down again. Liz's mouth forms words that I can't hear as my brain takes over.

 _What if he'd gone? What if we hadn't gotten here in time? What if he'd bled to death? What if–_

"Hey! What's wrong? You're…spacey all of a sudden."

I bite my lip. "How badly was Mr. Stark hurt?"

Liz hesitates. "Pretty bad. He almost went into shock earlier. I…don't like to see people hurt, so I usually stay out my mom's job. With you two… It was important that I had to stay and watch. And help where I could."

Unexpected tears flood my sight and I look away to hide the shine from Liz.

"Peter, he's gonna be okay."

"But what if he's not?" I push my choked words past the lump in my throat. "What if he's already gone? I don't know how I could cope without him, I mean… I wouldn't be Spiderman without him. I'd just be a kid in a onesie. Trying, not thriving. Existing, not being." Despite my throbbing shoulders, I dart a hand to my cheek to stop a tear before Liz catches on. "He almost died last night because of me. Because I was there, because Vulture wanted me, he attacked Mr. Stark without mercy. He would've killed me and Mr. Stark too if he'd gotten the chance."

"But he didn't. Look on the bright side a little!"

"What if? He could be dead right now and it would be my fault! Anything could've happened last night." I grind my teeth.

Liz frowns. "Peter. Stop. There's no greater setback than guilt."

"Still– !"

"Hey, kid."

I whip my head around at the new arrival.

Mr. Stark stands in the doorway, leaning on the wall and a bit peaked.

A gasp tears through my airways and I spring from the couch, staggering toward him. White dizziness overtakes me and I collapse onto my mentor in a half-fall, half-hug.

Mr. Stark stumbles. "Whoa, Pete– ."

"I thought you were dead!" I bury my face in his shoulder as my mind replays the events from the dreadful night. The silent reactor, his pale face, the weak pulse, seeing him fall, seeing him bleed, seeing him fade… "I was so scared for you last night," I break myself from his arms and scan his face, "I couldn't stop thinking about everything that could've happened– like what if you died? What if you died and I was alone? I saw your arc reactor and it wasn't blinking or lighting up or anything and I knew that your heart would stop soon and I– ."

"Kid!"

I freeze.

Mr. Stark leads me back to the couch with a slight limp in his step. "No panic attacks today, okay, kid?"

Breathing hard, I shuffle back under the blankets I'd been laid with earlier.

Liz's mother scrunches her eyebrows. "Hang on… Didn't we hear that you got that surgery done to fix the reason you had the reactor in the first place?"

Mr. Stark eases himself into a chair and rubs his chin. "Yeah…that's the thing. They _did_ get all that shrapnel out, but of course, they missed some."

My mouth drops. "What?"

"Okay, no. They didn't miss any. There were some pieces of shrapnel that were so close to my heart that, if moved, would risk damaging it fatally. So the white-clad know-it-alls left 'em in there and told me that they wouldn't move on their own. The skin and muscle had formed and healed around them, keeping them in place."

I examine his tense features. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"The knife that Bird Brain poked me with must've torn some of the skin holding them in place. They're not actively moving at the moment, but they're trying. In a couple weeks, they'll pierce my heart."

I clench my fists. "And why don't _you_ seem very concerned about this? It's-it's your death we're talking about."

"Because I'm Iron Man. I can fix the suit and fix the reactor."

Liz scrambles to her feet. "Here? Now?"

"Nope. Not here, not now. The shrapnel won't get to my heart until, I'm guessing, three weeks from now. And I can't exactly go traipsing around Salem, freshly wounded and looking for scraps, while Vulture's either in jail and trying to get out, or tap dancing around the city in his bloody talons. I'd need to bring the suit with the reactor to someplace…secluded. Out of the way. Where Vulture would never find us _and_ where tools and materials are abundant." Mr. Stark's fingers bounce on the arm of the chair and a knowing smirk crawls across his face.

Hope alights in my chest. "You have a specific place in mind, don't you?"

"Rose Hill, Tennessee." Mr. Stark chuckles. "We both need a vacation, kid. Until I can get my suit powered back up, there's no contact with Headquarters. To be honest, nothing could be better. They're not yelling at us to come back. It's liberating." Mr. Stark hoists himself out of the chair. "Nor would we actually _know_ if they were, but it's perfect. There's no rush at all, expect for the fact that I'll be dead in three weeks."

"Mr. Stark…" I wince. "What are you trying to say?"

"We can take our time, kid. Get away from the dangerous hero stuff and the missions and the assassinations. You've been through a lot the past couple weeks. We both really need this time off." In an abrupt twist of his head, he twirls a finger at Liz's mother. "You…uhh… What do I call you?"

"Just call me Mrs. Toomes."

"Right. Could you get me a bite to eat? Maybe a…tuna fish sandwich?" He turns back around and fixes his attention on me. "Listen, kid. We'll leave tomorrow and do the vacation right. I'll buy a car– it'll only be about a million dollars– and we can rest and heal on the way there after another touchup today. We'll be better in no time. Healing days, lots of nice conversations, a new friend for you, and old one for me… Flawless."

My mind swirls with questions. "A new friend for… Mr. Stark, why are we going there again?"

"I told you. To fix my suit." My mentor claps twice. "Actually– you know what keeps going through my head?"

I keep silent.

"Where's my sandwich?"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Did anyone get it?

I think it's pretty obvious, but just in case it isn't...

Tuna fish sandwich? Rose Hill, Tennessee? An old friend of Tony's?

HARLEY FROM IRON MAN 3! I love him so much I'm so happy he's coming!

Read and review!


	41. Chapter Forty - Closing In Colder

NOW we find out what's happened to Nat, Steve, and Buck. But not everything's flowers and rainbows. It's blood and chains. HAHA!

I had a heck of a time writing this because the words flowed so well and I'm so proud of some of the longer paragraphs in here. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Forty - Closing In Colder

The first thing that registers in my numbed mind is the constant whirring of my metal arm. Loosen. Shift. Lock back into position. Repeat. And it's not pulsing with heat either, like in most stressful situations. It's like ice.

Still, there are other complications.

Pain. Burning, aching, searing pain in my chest with every breath. Every movement.

As my consciousness returns, the surroundings materialize around me. Despite the darkness of closed eyes, I can make out a few poignant details.

There's no air current. Merely a stuffy atmosphere with the subtle scent of water and metal, like a seaside dock with rusted, metallic tools in front of the breeze. The space isn't claustrophobic, for nothing pushes up against me on either side. No walls, no tools, no bodies. The clinking of chains makes my ears twitch and the raw sting in my wrists and freezing metal touching my skin answers my question at once. I'm in chains. My arms are strung up behind me, my back against a damp stone wall. Finally, I release the blackness and peel open my eyelids.

I'm kneeling in an awkward position and suppress a grimace as I scoot into a more comfortable one. My dark hair hangs in my face and shrouds my sight, but something else catches my awareness.

Blood.

From a small puncture in the right side of my chest runs a crimson trail. A tightness behind the wound invites suspicion, as if a bandage had been wrapped there.

 _What happened?_

"Buck? You awake?"

I drag my head up to pinpoint the voice.

Steve huddles in a corner the room, his arms chained behind him. A tiny light from above, the only light, casts a faint glow on his features. His face is smudged with dirt and sweat and dark circles steal the fire from his usually strong look. The red, white, and blue suit is riddled with rips and tears.

I moisten my lips. "Yeah." My weak voice croaks with pain. "Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you. _You_ got shot. I didn't."

I purse my lips. Right. That's what happened. "How long have you been awake?"

Steve grits his teeth and strains at his chains. "Couple minutes." He gives up and scans the room. "I can't find Natasha. Either she's not here or in the shadows. Can you see her?"

Squinting, I flick my hair behind my ear and scrutinize the pitch-blackness. In the back of my mind, I take note of the room's size. Large, rectangular, and spacious. Other than ourselves, not a single thing has been placed in here with us.

There. Natasha.

The dying lightbulb swinging from a single wire on the ceiling accents Natasha's frame more than anything else, so amid shadow is she. A vague human shape hunches in the shadowed corner closest to the door, unmoving. Her arms, same as ours, are wrenched backward and chained at the wrists. Her head's bowed in-between her knees as gravity pulls her frail body earthward.

"You see her?"

I nod. "Looks like she's still unconscious. She's not moving."

Steve sighs.

"So Nick…wasn't really Nick."

"Chameleon. Whoever he is, alien, shape shifter, master magician… He tricked us. All of us."

I shiver. "You think he's with HYDRA?"

Steve clenches his fists and doesn't answer.

"He'd said he was doing his job by capturing us."

"But they he also said that _they_ wanted _you_. For what?"

"They plan to wake the Winter Soldier."

Steve and I jump at Natasha's voice.

The assassin raises her head from her knees, her green eyes glinting like a cat in the dark. "I'd move toward you, but…" She stirs and chains clink. "My hands are tied."

Steve drops his head with a chuckle. "You seem pretty chipper for someone who just found they left the compound for nothing."

Natasha exchanges a knowing smile with him. "I guess I just like to know who I'm fighting."

My brow furrows. "How long have you been awake?"

Natasha shrugs. "Couple hours. Had some time to listen."

"To what?"

"I woke up halfway when they were dragging us into here and I latched a bug onto some guy's helmet. Listened for a while, but the helmet was taken off and the bug was discovered. The line went dead from then on."

Steve perks up. "Any intel?"

"I heard something about jets or tanks. Other than that, not much. My guess is that they're storing assets somewhere in this place and the conversation I heard was that they were discussing an LZ and a date to drop down."

I move my jaw, a chill working its way through me. "Drop…down?"

"I don't know what it means either. Whether it's the jets or the tanks, I don't know." Natasha taps at the ground with her foot. "They've got us beat. For now."

A sudden tremor grips me and I suck in a breath through gritted teeth. What Natasha had said…

 _"_ _They plan to wake the Winter Soldier."_

My stomach churns like a cauldron. The Winter Soldier. I'm not at all surprised that HYDRA's targeting his arrival after what Chameleon and Natasha pointed out, but…the Winter Soldier is the reason for my constant fear and hesitance. My nightmares. My panic attacks. And, at times, my self-loathing.

The memories that scratch the deepest from those seventy years under HYDRA are the torture sessions. Always conducted by none other than Brock Rumlow. Rumlow is the face of my nightmares. His hands, always poised to strike me with palm and fist alike. His arms, bulging with strength that could rival a Super Soldier. His gear, always stocked with rows of knives and guns and grenades and needles and every instrument of torture imaginable. His boots, spiked and rock-hard so a kick to the chest results in torn skin and broken ribs. His voice, raspy like an old vulture delighting in his kill. And his eyes… Rumlow's eyes had been like black ice. Gleaming in deep shadow and piercing in bright daylight. Similar to a grave digger's shovel, one look from him had carved every shred of safety and consolation from me as if he'd spoken a promise of death.

He'd known this.

He'd known how much I feared him.

Hurting had been Rumlow's prize. His passion. His excitement. But also my punishment.

Not answering a question? Pain.

Refusing to give in? Pain.

Defying a direct order? Pain.

Nothing but pain and the very Russian words that send me, without fail, into the mind and mission of the Winter Soldier.

"Hey, Buck."

I jerk my head upward.

Steve stares at me, his mouth in a thin line. "You're deep in thought."

Releasing a long breath, I avert my gaze. "Wish I wasn't."

"What about?"

"Rumlow."

Steve goes rigid. His jawline hardens. "Ouch. I'm glad he's gone."

A rapping on the door startles us from our thoughts. The lock clicks and a gang of HYDRA thugs burst into the cell. Guns raised, they surround each of us and reveal the individual in charge.

I do a double take.

No… His face still bloated and burned from the Triskelion collapse…

Steve utters the name aloud with a low tone. "Rumlow."

"You surprised, Captain?" He spreads his arms wide and smirks.

I shudder at his smile.

Natasha grunts. "You were there in Lagos. You blew yourself up. We all saw you."

Rumlow snickers. "Well, I'm pleased to announce: that wasn't me."

Steve lunges forward and pulls against his chains. "You're lying!"

The agent holds up his hands. "Don't hurt yourself, Captain. I'll explain myself." He whirls around. "Romanoff."

Natasha directs her attention past him.

"Washington DC. When you tricked Pierce into thinking you were that council lady, Hawley. What'd you so cleverly use?"

Natasha grinds her teeth and keeps silent.

"Come on. What'd you use?"

"A Photostatic Veil."

Rumlow grins. " _Thank_ you. There we go. You heard that, Rogers? Barnes? A Photostatic Veil. Some brave agent stepped up to pretend to be me in Lagos– the suit, the burns, everything– using one of the sneaky things. He went out with a bang, let me tell you. So, there you have it. It wasn't me. And here I am. Alive, powerful, and hungry." He chuckles.

Steve growls under his breath.

"So…" Rumlow twists his head around and puts all focus on me.

My body temperature plummets at once. I refuse to give in, however, and match his look with a glare.

"Haven't seen you in a while…" He tromps forward, one step at a time, until he's only one foot away. He drops to one knee. "You think it's time to finish what I started so many years ago?"

Steve yanks on his chains. "Bucky, watch out!"

Rumlow waves a hand in the air. "Silence him."

An agent jams a gun into his chest and brings him down with a groan.

Rumlow balls both of his hands into white fists. "Your face is my canvas. Time to bloody it up." He starts to get up, but rebounds and slams his fist into my temple.

Flashes of white. Red. Dots of black in stars.

Everything's blurry and swimming around me. Voices, sounds, murmurs of action.

I blink in flurries and return myself to the present. The voices clear out, the world fades back in, and the darkness crawls away from my vision. Blood slides down my face from the impact.

"Bucky!"

 _Steve's voice._

A hand grabs my chin and pulls me up. Rumlow sneers. "Feels familiar, doesn't it? Pain."

I struggle in his grip. It only tightens, his nails digging into my skin.

"It won't be long before we awaken the true soldier. And then _rassvet_ will come _._ "

 _Daybreak._

My heartbeat surges and I swallow down a yell rising in my throat. "D-daybreak…"

Rumlow hauls me toward him. " _Dobroye utro, Soldat._ "

 _Good morning, Soldier._

Finally, Rumlow withdraws and signals to his agents. "We'll be back."

The door bolts behind them.

Perspiration dampens my furrowed brow as I heave for breath. Dizziness spirals in my brain from both the punch to the head and from Rumlow's trigger word. Even that one word's making my mind retreat into itself. _Rassvet. Daybreak._ Already, it's difficult to focus. Recollections from the word's connection dance in my conscious. Pain. Blood. Surgeries. And not the breaking of day, but the absence of it. Daybreak… _Rassvet…_ It's a terrible reminder of what I never got under HYDRA: the face of dawn. A fresh chance. A new day. A spark of hope that comes with the ascending sun. _Rassvet_ is a brutal, torturous reminder of what I will _never_ get as long as HYDRA has a metal hand on my mind. Daybreak.

The blood drips from my chin as a dull throb pulses through my skull. As slowly as I dare, I move into the position I'd been in before Rumlow had entered.

"Bucky?"

"I'm fine, Steve."

"Stop it. You're not. I can't sit here while you're tortured by Rumlow and do nothing about it. We need to bust out of here."

I shake my head, worsening the blood flow. This results in a moan as the room spins. "You think we can? Rumlow knows we– or you– would try. We can't. Besides, we don't even know where we are and…" I trail off and lay my head back on the wall.

"Hey, don't work yourself too hard."

"Rumlow's probably writing a list of ways to torture me right now. He enjoys it."

Steve tenses. "You're sure of this?"

"He…he was the one who always tortured me. He was the one who trained me on the trigger words and set up my training sessions. He was in Siberia too. When I first started."

"Wait, then that means he's…"

"Nearly eighty years old, I know. From what I heard, HYDRA concocted some sort of longevity potion that he drank. Now he looks younger and lives longer. Like a Super Soldier without the muscle and cell upgrades."

Steve holds my gaze. "Buck."

"What?"

"I promise you, I'll get you out of this. We won't let Rumlow reach you again."

"He may not give you a choice, Steve. Have you felt these walls? These chains? They're vibranium. There's no breaking out of this one. Not this time."

"They can't get to the Winter Soldier. They _won't._ "

I fall into silence to listen to my metal arm responding to my stress.

Loosen. Shift. Lock back into position. Repeat.

For several minutes, the process goes on. After the sound grows monotonous, I turn to Steve.

"I don't think we can escape this, Steve."

"We will. We have to. I'll find some way to– ."

I whack my silver fist into the wall. " _Steve!_ "

My friend goes slack in his chains.

"Winter's almost here, Steve." I lift my trembling fingers to the blood on my cheek. "And Rumlow's ready to greet the cold."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** The first Bucky torture chapter... Even slightly. I love bringing Rumlow into this. MWAHAHAAA! I'm so mean :P

Read and review!


	42. Chapter Forty-One - Matrix Ghost

Another Bucky, Steve, and Nat chapter! I was originally going to slip in a little bit about Tony and Peter or the Avengers back at HQ, but there's nothing needed to be explained or clarified or anything like that. This may be a bit hard to read for Bucky-lovers though :P

Another chapter!

OH I forgot to respond to some reviews!

 **Guest:** YES! I love leaving my readers hanging, literally. :D ALSO I didn't say this, I don't think, but thank you for bringing up the Iron Man 3 surgery issue on your review in chapter thirty-six! I'd completely forgotten about that, and it sparked some ideas on how to fix it after my critique partner through email realized the same thing. xD Thus, you have the dialogue in Plan Toward The Roses. ;)

 **Ashla07:** ( _chapter 16)_ Thank you so much! I really try to make things as realistic and real as possible, and I'm glad it showed!  
 _(chapter 19)_ Awwww, that made me so happy to read! I've read fanfiction like that as well. I do enjoy it, but like I said before, I go for real. I write for the journey and for lessons learned, not for the happy ending. :D Yeah! I like that you brought up Ronin. I seem to, surprisingly, be exploring a lot of the issues that Endgame does regarding Clint. His family's death, the way he handles grief... Yay! Thank you, again, for your encouraging words. :D I shall remember them.  
 _(chapter 21)_ Hmmm... That's a really hard question! I honestly think that both Steve and Tony had good points. They both were coming from a good angle. I really don't know. xD As a fan and as a person, I'd probably go with Steve just because I'm a loyalty girl myself, but I don't know if I'd be able to handle the conflict tbh. xD I hate fighting.  
 _(chapter 38)_ Chameleon is not a Skrull. Chameleon is a villain from the comics that my friend told me about who's read the comics, and I thought he'd be cool, so I brought him in.  
 _(chapter 39)_ Harley would be fifteen.

 **Amethyst Glowburst Goldenwind:** Yes, Vulture is married. His wife shows up for a brief, multi-minute scene in Spiderman: Homecoming. Thanks for reading!

Okay, that's it!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Forty-One - Matrix Ghost

Time in the HYDRA jail is meaningless.

Since the day when Rumlow entered and threatened me– or us– I've got no sense of the passing hours. How long has it been? A day? Two days? There's no window in our cell, and therefore no light to judge the sun's position.

Regardless, it doesn't matter. Despite Steve and Natasha's attempts to drag the minutes by with conversation, plans, and consolations, every minute for me is filled with tight limbs, hard and fast breathing, and sweaty hands. Every hour of restless sleep is drugged with nightmares. Usually Steve can hammer the paralyzing fear from me, however, this…this is different. Much different. Before, we had been in the comfort of our Brooklyn home, waiting out the panic attacks and nightmares within a safe environment. Here, now… We're yards from each other, chained to a cold, vibranium wall with the Winter Soldier looming over me like a ghost. The chill in my heart is like a spear of ice to my chest. Whenever Steve's words even begin to bring me out of the dark, the specter of the soldier assassin birthed amid a wintery matrix seizes my consciousness and sends my limbs into a fierce bout of trembling again.

 _Dobroye utro, Soldat._

 _Good morning, Soldier._

Any day. Any time. Rumlow could stroll in, take me away, and lock me to the chair. Torture me. Brainwash me. Fuel the Winter Soldier with Siberia's Russian words. And then I'm gone. Possibly forever. HYDRA had trained me to the Winter Soldier so it had been my default identity. I'd had a life as my second self, some parts of which I'm not proud of. And why would I be? For years and years, I'd lived as the cold killer. Not just complying. But actually _living_. It could happen again. Take me away, and Bucky could be gone for years.

At first, it hadn't been like that. At first, I'd resisted. It had taken many years before they'd broken me completely.

Rumlow had started every torture session the exact same way, with the exact same question: Who are you?

 _I match Rumlow with a steely glower, not uttering a single word. The venom in my glare sends all the storm clouds I can muster. Here I am, bare-chested, panting, strapped to a metal chair with dark locks swaying in front of my face. But nothing blocks the hateful pathway to our eyes._

 _Rumlow kneels in front of me, the ancient room rumbling with his inquiry. "Who are you?"_

 _The temperature in the space clouds my breath and each exhale seethes through gritted teeth. "My name is James Buchanan Barnes."_

 _This gains me a powerful slap on the cheek._

 _Rumlow grabs a fistful of my hair and wrenches my head upward. "NO! You are the Winter Soldier. We saved you and you saved us."_

 _I manage to shake my head. "N-no. You're wrong. Steve– ."_

 _Rumlow whips out a dagger and slices my forehead._

 _Blood trickles into my eyes. "My name is James Buchanan Barnes. I'm– ."_

A pounding on the door jerks me from the painful memory. I jump in my place and rattle the chains.

Steve glances at me, his forehead creased with questions.

Natasha watches with a rigid back as HYDRA agents pour into the chamber-like cell.

Similar to the last visit, they crowd around us individually and target their guns to ensure cooperation.

Steve chooses otherwise. "What is it this time?"

"Today," Rumlow saunters in, "comes order. And order only comes through pain." His gaze flicks to me.

A hot flash has me sweating through my gear. _No. No. No. Please, no._

"We're prepared for you, Sergeant Barnes."

 _No._

I can't move. I'm frozen.

 _Please. No. Anything but Rumlow. Please._

Steve's face drops. "Rumlow, don't. If you want me to talk, I'll talk. Take me away, torture me, bring me an inch from death, but don't make him go through all that agai– ."

"Steve." The word escapes faster than I can stop it. "Steve, please."

"No, Buck– ."

"They don't want anything else. They won't hurt you two if they get to me."

Rumlow shrugs. "He's got it right. Romanoff and her sneaky bug heard that too. If he comes with us, neither of you will be harmed."

"That failed when you jabbed me with the gun yesterday." Steve's as stiff as a tree in winter.

"Can't say that was my fault, Captain." Rumlow sneers. "Anyway, _Soldat?_ " he pivots in my direction, " _gotov soblyudat?_ "

 _Ready to comply?_

A strange calm comes over me as I reply in agreement. They unlock the chains and reveal my blistered, scratched wrists. I'm pulled to my feet and hauled halfway through the exit before–

"Bucky, no!"

I whip around at my best friend's pleading voice.

"Please don't, Buck. Don't do this for me and Nat. You can't."

Holding his stare for several, quiet seconds, I offer a brief consolation. "It's all right, Steve. To save my friends…I could do this all day."

* * *

It's only when the group of agents bring to a room much like my past torture sessions and lock me by swollen wrists to a chair does it all start to come back.

First I'm trembling so feverishly that the tips of my hair shake. My heartbeat races faster and faster until it's running a constant marathon. My muscles flood with weakness. I grip the back of the chair so hard that the chips of wood pierce the skin beneath my nails. When the other agents file out and leave only Rumlow, I'm seeing double. The panic's making my mind spiral out of control.

Rumlow steps up to me. "Now for the million-dollar question…who are you?"

There's a growl in my voice when I answer. "I am James Buchanan Barnes, and you don't own me."

"Thought so." Rumlow taps my chin up to eye level, scanning my features like an artist to a canvas. "Where to start?" He draws a knife and traces my chiseled face with the tip.

I open my mouth to protest, however, Rumlow's promise from earlier seals my lips.

 _"_ _If he comes with us, neither of you will be harmed."_

I'm doing this for Steve and Nat. For my friends. For them.

Rumlow sheathes the dagger and cracks me in the face with his fist.

More blood. Swelling bruises.

The HYDRA agent paces around me to admire the already-forming wounds. A faint smile touches his lips. "You know, Captain Rogers can hear you. And Romanoff."

My ears twitch.

"This room is connected to their jail like an air vent. If you scream, they'll hear it."

I clamp my jaws shut. _Keep silent and spare them, or yell and fuel the nightmares._

Rumlow plucks the knife from his gear. "Believe it or not, I've got something special planned for you."

My stomach flips.

He stalks behind me and his huge hand slams down on my right wrist.

I feel the cold blade long before he plunges it into my skin. Blood dribbles down my arm as Rumlow drives the tip in jagged lines. And he's not gentle. Every slash is like a lightning strike through my body. It takes a few minutes of this treatment for me to notice that Rumlow's carving letters into my arm. Slowly. Carefully. With precision and commitment.

On what I guess to be the last word, the ripping is so intense that I can hold my breathless screams down no longer.

 _I'm sorry, Steve…_

* * *

My lungs are aching with holding my breath by the time Bucky's yelling stops. Sighing, I deflate and slump against the wall.

"Steve, you need to stay strong for him."

"What did you hear, Natasha?"

"What?"

"From that bug– what'd you hear? Anything to help with an escape plan? We have to get out of here now. Take Bucky and leave."

"You realize we can't just bust out of here that easily, r– ?"

" _Do you realize I don't care?_ "

"Steve, please– ."

The door flings open and Rumlow struts in, a maniacal happiness on his face and fresh blood drooling down his left arm."Bring him in."

Three HYDRA agents stumble forward, a dark, motionless body in their arms.

Bucky.

Heat boils in my veins, but instead of spitting words of poison, my words escape deep and smooth. "What did you do to him?"

Rumlow uncurls his lips and shows broken teeth. "You'll see."

The soldiers dump him in a heap beside me and skitter after Rumlow.

The jail echoes with the locking of the six-inch door. Then silence.

Bucky's expression, even in unconsciousness, is deathly pale, like a sheet of white ice. One side of his face is crimson and bleeding from a gash above his left eye.

Natasha speaks up. "What's on his arm?"

I switch my attention to the sanguinary mess on his right arm. In-between his elbow and wrist is written one word:

 _"Guilty."_

A violent shiver wracks my muscles. "Rumlow wrote on his arm. With a knife. The blood on Rumlow's arm was Bucky's." A wave of nausea threatens as I watch the blood leak from the serrated letters. I swallow it down. "B-Buck? Bucky?"

No response. In fact, it takes a couple hours for him to wake up. And when he does, the panic in his wild eyes doesn't leave him.

Two days later, Rumlow returns and drags him away once more, promising me that I'll see him again.

But the question remains:

When that moment approaches, will he be the same?

* * *

The message on my forearm prevails as I'm strapped to another chair. And I recognize it.

The brainwashing chair. With my head tilted against the rest and metal bars around my throbbing limbs, all of the memories flood into my mind at the sight of the spiked plates that suck Bucky Barnes from my grasp. Every time.

 _It's happening. I'm done. I'm gone._

Scientists in white hit a few controls and evacuate from their positions to give Rumlow space. In his hand, with the star on the front–

 _No. Please, no._

The red book. And inside…

 _"_ _Why don't we discuss your home? Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no. I mean, your real home."_

I clench my jaw.

"Z _helaniye._ "

 _Longing._

My heart's exploding in my chest.

 _Longing. The longing to kill, to assassinate, to fulfill the mission, to comply… I must obey. The mission before anything else. Failure is not an option. I need to kill. I want to kill. There's such a longing–_

" _Rzhavyy._ "

 _Rusted._

Tears burn in my vision.

 _Rusted. Being alone. Being neglected. Being left alone so long that there's nothing left inside, nothing to run on. No energy, no motivation, no time, no hope, no life at all… My emotions have rusted. Any euphoric feeling is gone. They're old, forgotten, neglected. I'm alone. I'm alone. Never to be found. I've rusted._

" _Semnadtsat._ "

 _Seventeen._

Bombs go off in my mind's eye.

 _Seventeen. Seventeen years until the Winter Soldier had taken full control. Seventeen years before they'd pried Bucky away from me. I'd endured for that long, but I'd failed. Seventeen years._

" _Rassvet._ "

 _Daybreak._

Darkness sputters on the edges of my consciousness.

 _Daybreak. Light, hope, a new chance, a new day, a new dawn, I'm done. I'll never see day, never see the sun rise, I'm done. Under HYDRA, there is no daybreak._

" _Pech._ "

 _Furnace._

Fire smolders through my thoughts.

 _Furnace. Burning metals. Smelting metals. The process of melting my skin to the arm. Nerves. Muscles. Feeling. Connection. Furnace._

" _Devyat._ "

 _Nine._

An image of ice and fire, polar opposites, prance in front me.

 _Nine. Nine surgeries to alter me. Super Soldier. Experiments. Serum. Long, long hours on the hospital bed while doctor and surgeons tear through flesh and muscle and bone with bloody razors, fighting for physical control. Nine._

" _Dobrokachestvennyy._ "

 _Benign._

The Winter Soldier far back in my mind gropes for his reign.

 _Benign. Something the Winter Soldier will never be. Kind. Gentle. Instead, it's destruction and murder. Benign._

" _Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu._ "

 _Homecoming._

Where is home?

 _Homecoming. HYDRA tells me that Siberia is my home. That with HYDRA, I am home. That before HYDRA, I'd had nothing. HYDRA had saved me. They'd brought me home. Homecoming._

" _Odin._ "

 _One._

A solitary mask sits in a shadowed cave.

 _One. Lonely, alone, without help. No one to turn to. Despairing alone. Struggling alone. Hurting alone. One._

" _Gruzovoy vagon._ "

 _Freight car._

Steve. Nineteen-forty-five.

 _"_ _Bucky! Hang on!"_

 _I stretch my fingers and reach for Steve's hand._

 _"_ _Grab my hand!"_

 _The bar breaks from the train wall._

 _I'm falling, fading, failing, fast._

 _Awake._

With the crank of a couple levers, I snap back against the chair, locked in. The contraption above tilts downward and rotates until the plates are inches from my temples. Electricity prickles in-between the spikes. Drugged by the trigger word session, there's only a subtle breath of fear as the plates clutch my skull on both sides.

Then I'm screaming again.

 _"_ _There are no prisoners with HYDRA, just order. And order only comes through pain. You ready for yours?"_

Second by second, my memories slip away.

Brooklyn. Gone.

Sergeant. Gone.

World War II. Gone.

Everything I've ever know sliding farther and farther away from me.

Bucky's almost gone.

 _"_ _Please don't, Buck. Don't do this for me and Nat. You can't."_

Steve.

The agony of brainwashing continues.

 _Steve. Rogers. Captain. My best friend. I need to stay, I need to win, I need to…_

 _My mission. Mission._

 _Stop. It's not me. My name is James Buchanan Barnes. I fought in World War II. Steve is my–_

 _Mission. I am the Winter Soldier. I–_

 _Steve, please. Help me out of this. They can't win. They can't win. They can't._

 _My name is James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. Steve is my best friend. I'm–_

The shock dilates to one thousand and my mind winks out.

Darkness. A blank slate.

The plates retract and Rumlow snaps in front of my nose. " _Soldat?_ "

 _I am the Winter Soldier. HYDRA is my home. I am home._

" _Gotov soblyudat._ "

 _Ready to comply._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Ouch... I'm sorry, Buck!

Read and review!


	43. Chapter Forty-Two - Skulls Are Red

Sorry it's taken so long to post this one! I finally started my two other fanfiction in these past couple weeks: _What I Want You Can't Give Me_ and _The Weight Of Us._ Check 'em out if you'd like! I'm excited about them. :D

Anyway, about the chapter. Finally, we'll get some new info about the rest of the team! Some of them, at least.

Responding to some fun reviews!

 **Lapis Ambersun Dawnwing:** Thank you bringing that to my attention! It is fixed. :D

 **Amethyst Goldenwind:** I know! Rumlow is not a very fun guy to be around. But I still love writing him!

 **Guest:** _(chapter 41)_ Oh my gosh, I love reading your reviews so much! They make me so happy. :) I LOVE that you say that you're really into it and that you're feeling the emotions! I've often been told that tense, suspenseful moments are my strong spot in writing, or tip of the sword, as I like to call it.  
 _(chapter 42)_ Hahahaaaaaaaa... LOVE all the questions! That's the sign of good writing I think, when someone starts asking all the questions stemming from the 'what's going to happen next?' feeling. Speaking of that... Remember when you were trying to guess what was going to happen and you were asking whether HYDRA's gonna send Bucky after Clint?

Well...

 ***evil grin***

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two - Skulls Are Red

I'm deep into discussing a potential escape plan with Natasha when Rumlow, once again, approaches us at the door. At this point, it's no surprise when the agents buzz about the room and aim their guns in our direction.

Natasha doesn't fight. Instead, she directs an inquiry at Rumlow. "Come to gloat on your victory?"

Rumlow sneers. "Pity you couldn't see the show. He didn't even fight."

My expression freezes over in a red haze. "So he's gone?"

"It's about time. I'd _missed_ hearing him scream."

I grind my teeth, my muscles straining against the chains. "Someday, you'll pay for– ."

"Boring." Rumlow rolls his eyes. "Save your threats for when I've really done something terrible. It won't be long now. And besides, you've got a visitor."

I mash my eyelids shut, not wanting to see the Winter Soldier so savage and wild as before. I catch heavy footsteps and Natasha sucks in breath. The footfalls stop.

 _I'm not looking, I'm not looking, I'm not–_

"Steve." Nat's trembling voice throws me off guard. "Look."

So slowly that I can feel the muscles in my neck rippling, I raise my head.

No. It can't be.

Red Skull.

His face is as crimson and scarred as I remember, his smooth skin glistening like leather in the limelight. His eyes have lost none of their smile.

"You are surprised, Captain?"

A growl tickles the back of my throat. I'd never thought I'd hear that German accent again, let alone be kneeling at his feet in chains. "I'd be lying to say I wasn't."

"You have not changed a bit since nineteen-forty-five! But I cannot agree with you in saying that I'm surprised, because you never change." He closes in and squints at me. The rough lines of his raw skull underneath slide over his bones as his lips glide delicately into a grin I'd never imagined seeing again. "Always…so…honest… Now tell me, Captain. How has your friend been faring? The one who…" he smirks, "lost everything?"

I hold a hateful look to the wall. _Does he mean…?_

"Oh, and I should tell you– ," Red Skull withdraws and starts pacing, "it's not Barnes, but a far more…interesting case. Isn't he unstable without her?" He jerks his head Natasha's way.

I exchange a hurried glance with her.

She goes rigid. "Clint?"

Rumlow snorts. "All right. My turn." He shrugs his armored shoulders. "Not that you can do anything about it, Captain, 'cause you can't. Neither of you can. Everything's vibranium, courtesy of a specific fallen agent, and I'm stationing soldiers in the room, outside the room, and constant patrolling for as long as you're staying."

I fidget. "You've been dead for years, Schmidt."

Rumlow chuckles. "Never stopped me."

Red Skull cackles. "I did not die, Captain. Far from it! The Tesseract did not deem me worthy to wield it, so it sent me away. There on the rocky mountain I waited for years and years with nothing, watching the same sunset against the same snowfall over and over and over. It was dreary, Rogers. I was a keeper of souls, but also given a herculean task. To tell approachers of the sacrifice to come." Red Skull shakes his head.

I furrow my brow. "Okay, I don't know what you're talking about, but you'd better get to the point quickly. How are you here?"

"I was sent back by the Mad Titan. I was asked to once again rule over HYDRA and achieve our purpose." He lifts his hands, as if greeting an ancient deity. "Now I can finish what I started. Because I _am_ the one leader of HYDRA. I…am– ." His next word cuts off with gasp. Red Skull tenses all over like a sentient statue, his cape trembling and his mouth gaped in a soundless scream. Sprouting from his chest directly over his heart, dripping with blood, is Rumlow's knife. It's yanked free, resulting in another gasp from Red Skull. His eyes bulge and he stumbles, his shaking hands moving sluggishly toward the wound. The knife runs him through again, his stomach this time. Blood gushes down Schmidt's clothes, pooling around his boots.

Red Skull dies even before Rumlow wrenches the knife back.

His gaze fogs over, his limbs go limp, and his lifeless body slumps, sliding from the knife and landing on the bloody ground with a wet _thump_.

I flinch.

Rumlow twirls the the red knife with one hand. He runs his tongue over his teeth, as if savoring the moment. "And now… _I'm_ the one leader of HYDRA."

The sight of Red Skull's blank stare and the blood still pouring from his chest almost has me gagging. I peer up at Rumlow, who's still admiring his bloodstained knife. "You did this to be on top?"

Rumlow bursts into laughter. "What, you didn't wish your old nemesis dead?"

"No, I– ."

"He's staying, by the way. I'm leaving him in here with you. In the meantime– ." he sheathes the knife with vigor, "you can sit back and relax."

* * *

Mr. Stark parks the glittering, blue Lambroghini at the hotel parking lot and nods to me. "Go get your stuff, kid. We'll rest up today, get to his house tomorrow."

I grumble under my breath. "Why aren't you telling me who we're seeing?"

"It's a secret. Like all things are." Mr. Stark scrambles from the car and pops the truck. "Don't hurt yourself, kid. That shoulder isn't getting better on its own."

I slide from the car and adjust the sling on my right arm. "I could say the same to you. Your wounds are still healing."

"We're both still healing." Mr. Stark winks at me from over the top of the car. "Get your luggage."

A huge sigh makes my shoulders sag as I haul the suitcase from the trunk with my uninjured arm. "I can't believe you spent hundreds of dollars on clothes."

"We gotta have stuff to wear, Pete. We couldn't exactly go anywhere to get clothes, could we?"

"No, but– ."

"Plus, I've got money to spare." Mr. Stark shuts the trunk and ushers me into the hotel lobby. "I always do. Pepper manages all of that."

I roll my eyes. "Her first question when we get back is probably going to be, 'why did you spend over one million dollars on your trip?'"

"She's used to whim purchases– it's fine." Mr. Stark brushes the statement off and signs us into the hotel.

I use the time to observe the hotel in all its glory. Leather couches and seats in the lobby, fresh floral decorations on every wall and coffee table, fancy chandeliers with prismatic balls of light and limbs of metal… Even the TVs in the lobby have surround sound. Leave it to Tony Stark to reserve rooms at a hotel nicer than my own house.

My gaze wanders to the window and glazes over in thought.

I thought I'd never see Liz look at me the way she'd done at the Homecoming again. At her house…we'd chatted for the first time in a year and a half and…I don't know what that's stirring inside.

Mr. Stark thumps me on the back. "All right, we've got our rooms. Come on, kid. Rest today, new friend tomorrow."

* * *

I'm still fiddling with the knife, stained red with the former leader's blood, when a couple agents lead the Winter Soldier into a small office and lock it, leaving the two of us. "Focus, _Soldat._ Listen up."

The assassin glares at me through a cascade of dark hair.

"I've got your next mission target." I rip a poster paper from underneath and slap it onto the table. "Like Strucker always said…concentrate fire on the weak ones."

The Winter Soldier's attention flicks from me to the paper and his eyes flash.

I cross my arms. "This is an important assassination. It will be conduced at night with absolute accuracy. Your first step will be to– ," I shove a metal disk in his hands, "kill the lights and electrical surges. It'll shut off that irritating AI of Stark's, Jarvis. You'll be able to get in undetected." Tapping a finger on the picture, I dip my head at him. "I don't care how you do it, just make sure the other Avengers don't wake up and interfere. Failure is not an option."

The Winter Soldier's metal arm whirs and clicks at my words.

"You must not fail. Do you hear me?"

Silence greets my question.

"By the end of this week, Clint Barton must be dead."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

In response to Guest's review...

Applause! Confetti! Cheering! You figured it out!

To send Bucky after Clint has been the plan for MONTHS! I love the "aaaahhaaaa!" moment in stories. It's so rewarding!

Or maybe not, because now you know what's going to happen anyways. *shrug*

One of the biggest things I was excited about in this chapter was the breaking of a plot twist. The plot twist was that Red Skull was still alive, but then I broke that twist by killing him off in the same chapter in which I introduced him and showing off some of Rumlow's maniacal tendencies. What did you think?

Read and review!


	44. Chapter Forty-Three - My Kids

YAY! I was so excited to post this chapter!

HARLEY! And he's Endgame-age now, pretty much. :D

Responding to some reviews!

 **xSapphirexRosesxFanx:** Yeah, probably! LOL!

 **Blandusername:** Well, I very much appreciate you giving my fanfiction a try _regardless_ rather then just quitting right at the beginning! My writing isn't for everyone, but still, I appreciate your feedback. :D

 **Guest:** Hahaaaaa! Red Skull! Yep, then he's dead. :P Yeah, I've never really heard of breaking a plot twist either, but then it occurred to me that...that's kind of what I was doing. Introducing a plot twist, and then changing it 'back to normal' right then and there. Well, you'll see what happens with Clint. After all, there's something going on with him in his chapter, we find out...slightly. And oh my gosh, I'm so happy you're getting sucked into the story! You are the perfect definition of a happy reader, I'd say (no offense to anybody else reading this, you're awesome too). Read, reaction, review, feedback, then eagerness. :D No worries about long reviews! I love them. :)

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Three - My Kids

I land with a thump in front of the compound, retracting my wings into the jetpack. My footfalls are heavy with defeat as I stretch my shoulders and tromp into Headquarters. Three days of flight, there and back. One with hope, and one without. Six days gone. I bust through the doors.

Scott lounges on a couch with a phone pressed to his ear. His cheerful, bubbly tone encourages the belief that his daughter is on the other end of the phone line.

Wanda and Vision exchange words in the doorway to the kitchen, deep in conversation.

The room quiets down as I stomp in.

Vision drifts near while Scott ends his call.

Wanda wrings her hands at waist level. "Sam? Any news?"

"Negative. Flew all the way to Salem only to find that they weren't there. I scanned the whole city with Redwing. Still nothing. Stark's gone and so is Parker."

Bruce steps out of an elevator with a clipboard in his hands. He fixes his glasses and gapes with marvelous intensity at the paper.

"Doctor?"

Bruce jerks his head up, his grey curls bouncing upon his head. He relaxes at the sight of me. "Ah, Sam. Did you– ."

"I didn't find them. Apparently, they left Salem. Can you still not contact them?"

The doctor sighs. "Nope. We've tried multiple times. His suit's still not connected."

Vision cocks his head. "However, Mr. Wilson, I believe you might like to know what has been on the world news of late."

I quirk an eyebrow.

"It stated a few days ago that Vulture has been put in jail in Salem after a massive explosion brought the police swarming the edge of the city."

I fold my arms over my chest. "So they succeeded. That much is clear from what you're telling me." One scan of the room confirms a couple absent figures. "Where's Old Man Thundercloud?"

Scott taps his foot on the ground. "I haven't seen him without that Loki guy since he arrived with Mr. Fury a week and a half ago. He's still pretty mad about it."

I nod, only half-listening.

Bruce's fingers bounce on the edge of the clipboard and his eyes dart from me to the paper.

I squint at him. "And where's Clint, doc?"

"Yeah, that's the thing…um… He's still stressed about Nat's apparent capture, but that's been motivating him to help us with research and missions rather than tempting him to revert back to his grieving habits."

"Okay, so get to the point."

"His condition's been getting worse all week and we don't know why. He's not telling us anything."

I remove my flight goggles. "Physical?"

"Everything's healed physically. His broken ribs from his hallucination a couple weeks ago have completely healed due to Tony's tech."

"So it's emotional?"

"Yes, it is."

I purse my lips and unstrap my jetpack. "I'll see how he is tonight. Maybe try to make some progress tomorrow. The sun's going down and I need some sleep. Keep an eye on him, will you, Banner?"

"Of course."

* * *

The car jolts as Mr. Stark parks the snazzy vehicle on a dusty path, overlooking an old house and shed. A smaller Toyota Corolla sits in the rocky driveway in front of the garage.

Mr. Stark squints at the other car. "Look, Pete. There's an Iron Man bumper sticker on that car." He leans back in his seat. "Still takin' after the Mechanic, aren't you, Keener?"

I frown at him. "Okay, what's going on? This isn't helping. You're just dropping clues."

My mentor's mouth drops. "What, you're not smart enough to figure them out? Huh."

We clamber out of the car, taking care to not jostle our injuries, and Mr. Stark pops the trunk where his broken Iron Man suit rests among grocery bags and Burger King napkins.

Mr. Stark hoists the metal armor from the space and supports it with both arms. "Let's take this into– ."

"Tony?"

I raise my head at the spunky, boyish voice saying my mentor's name.

Standing in the driveway is a rugged teenager in ripped jeans, a black hoodie, and a red and yellow button-down. His nest of rustic, brown hair reflects the midday sun like a fresh hay bale and his recent Fringe Cut surrenders to wandering strands and spikes of uncombed bedhead. An awed smirk crawls over his flushed cheeks and blue-grey eyes flood with warmth as Mr. Stark pivots to observe the newcomer.

The billionaire chuckles. "Hey, kid."

The teenager points at Mr. Stark with his mouth hanging open. His pupils fix on the broken suit, then lock back onto his face. "What…? What are you doing here?"

Mr. Stark shrugs and lifts the suit. "I need to dump some metal in your shed again. And I thought I'd visit an old friend."

"And…you're not alone."

I squirm as the other kid shifts his gaze to me.

"Oh, right." Mr. Stark gestures when appropriate. "Peter, Harley. Harley, Peter."

Harley cross-examines me with nothing short of curiosity on his face. "Favorite subject?"

I stuff my free hand in my pocket. "Oh, um…Computer Science and Mechanics."

Harley grins. "Same."

Mr. Stark scoffs. "Well, there's no better person to take after. I'm pretty awesome." He juts his chin to the tiny Corolla in the driveway. "That your car, kid?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm driving now." Harley's features darken ever so slightly. "I kinda have to have my license anyways since there's no other person to get me places."

Mr. Stark's eyebrows knit together to support the clench in his brow. "Your mom?"

Harley ruffles his hands in his hoodie's pockets and stares into the distance. "Drug overdose. Couple years ago. My aunt on the other side of the state has custody now."

My mentor grimaces. "You've had a rough couple years, kid."

Harley stiffens his shoulders. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm used to it though."

Mr. Stark bounces his fingers on the Iron Man suit's chest plate and, shaking himself, the concern leaves his expression. "Okay, enough with the sob story, Keener– how's about we get to the part where you're useful?"

Harley rolls his eyes and his farm-boy face breaks into a glowing smile. "I'll unlock the shed." As he's strolling toward the broken-down structure, he throws another remark over his shoulder. "It's nice to see you too, you know!"

* * *

I drop the suit on the old couch, positioning him in a similar fashion as my last stranded Rose Hill episode. But boy, is this different.

Harley's workshop bursts with tools, computers, and mini mechanical inventions. The flashy car I'd left him still survives, however, instead of parked under a new lightbulb, it's dusty under a load of wood in the corner.

I turn to him. "Why didn't you make use of what I left you, kid?"

Harley snickers as he hurries about, tidying the workshop. "Well, you didn't exactly give me the keys to it."

I open my mouth to reply. Nothing comes out. "I never did, did I?" I yank open a drawer under his desk to find a bunch of junk-drawer tools. "Hey, Harley."

"Yep?"

"Imma invite myself to use anything in here. You let me in, I have permission to use everything. Deal?"

Harley glances at Peter, who's drifting around the entrance, before responding. "Um, yeah. Sure."

"I need to build a new reactor and fix the suit."

"Okay, are you going to tell me what's happened to you, anyways?"

Peter wavers to my side as I begin the story.

Harley's reactions are silent, yet they scream emotions at every turning point in my story. I recount everything, even the awkward, life-saving encounter with the Toomes family. Once I reach the present moment, Peter's already inspected every inch of the workshop with glittering interest and Harley's so close to the desk that he's almost touching it.

"Wow. That-that's a pretty hardcore story." Harley hugs his chest. "I guess you really have to work quickly, don't you? What can I do to help?"

I angle the night lamp toward my workspace. "Take care of yourself, for one. You're looking a bit red there."

Harley's cheeks rise at that comment. "And for two?"

"Socialize, dang it. You and Peter might as well get to know each other as the sun goes down. You got a room ready for me?"

"I can set one up later. I've got a couple empty rooms with beds available that you two can use."

"Right on, buddy." I give him a wink. "Okay, move out the way. I'm busy."

Harley retires to the rickety couch. After a few minutes of stuffy silence, he pats the spot next to him and blinks at Peter. "Wanna come over? You don't have to hover around the door all the time."

Without a word, Peter accepts the offer and plops down in-between one of my oldest friends and my broken suit.

Even though my mind runs at twenty lightyears per second as I grab some papers and begin drafting the outlines of the reactor, half of my focus directs to the kids' conversation.

 _My kids._

My hands freeze as the thought enters my mind.

 _Really? Could I truly call them that?_

 _Well…_

 _Y'know what?_

 _Yeah. My kids._

 _How will they get along?_

Harley crosses one leg over the other and scratches his head. "So how did you meet Tony, Peter?"

Peter catches my eye and asks the question devoid of words.

I dip my chin at him and resume my work.

"I'm-I'm actually…S-Spiderman."

Harley stops dead and twists around to face him. "Shut up! Really?"

Peter laughs. "Yeah, really."

"You're not messing with me?"

"Nope."

"Is that how you and Tony met?"

"Well…he approached me and basically asked me to travel internationally with him… He wanted to recruit me to fight the Avengers, which, in hindsight, I kind of regret."

Harley shakes his head. "Wait, wait, wait, you fought the _Avengers?_ "

"Yeah, it was pretty wild. Out of curiosity, you know…who's your favorite Avenger?"

"I mean, since he's here, I gotta say Iron Man."

A spark tickles my nerves. _That's my boy._

"Where you from, Peter?"

"Queens. You?"

"Rose Hill. Still here."

"Would you leave if you got the chance?"

Harley sighs. "I don't really know. I mean, maybe. If-if Mom and Dad were still here, then we might have moved. Rose Hill tends to be a town filled with rumors and dangerous people. I've learned to stay away from most places, especially since I usually live by myself most of the time."

Peter's jaw tightens. "Your dad's gone too?"

"Yep. Left me and Mom when I was five."

Peter shudders. "I'm-I'm sorry."

Harley squeezes his shoulder. "Thanks."

"And you said that your aunt takes care of you?"

"Yeah. She's super busy with work though, so I only see her every month or so."

"That's…" The sixteen-year-old tenses up, "that's crazy. It must be so hard."

"Well, you get used to it. What about you? What's your life like?"

"My mom and dad are gone too. So is my uncle. I live with my aunt." Peter rubs his thighs.

Harley's expression softens. "Wow, deja vu, man."

"I know…"

The two teenagers share in their similar grief in absolute silence, aside from my tinkering, until the sun goes down. The dark of night arrives. The moonlight streams into the window. And the conversation from Harley and Peter is no more.

I'm working for at least another hour, constructing the skeleton for a full arc reactor in a shed with limited tools. Of course, the actual thing's not finished yet. I'll take a while.

 _I've got to make this work. After all, I came here saying that I'd have the tools to build it. I'll make it work. I've got to._

I lift my head from my project only to find Peter and Harley dead to the world on the couch. A giant smile breaks my work-face.

 _Yep. My kids._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S** **NOTES:** Oh my gosh I love fatherly Tony SO FLIPPIN MUCH. Harley is one of my favorite MCU secondary characters.

 _ **SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME BELOW.**_

I'm giving you

a chance

to leave

if you haven't

seen

Endgame

Yet.

Yes?

 _Okay._

Seeing him at Tony's funeral made me cry so much harder because...I love Harley! I love Iron Man 3 as well. I heard that, after Endgame, there was a huge debate as to who that kid was at Tony's funeral and I was like, "PEOPLE WHAT THE HECK HOW CAN YOU NOT RECOGNIZE HIM IT'S HARLEY FROM IRON MAN 3 I MEAN JUST WATCH MOVIES" I don't really have grudges or am angry or anything I just found it amusing. :P

ANYWAY, what's going on with Clint? Something emotional again? Hmmm...

Read and review!


	45. Chapter Forty-Four - No Fireworks Today

WOW that was quick! This isn't a very long chapter, but I wanted to highlight this little moment of Clint's journey and there wasn't really anything that I wanted to extend about this chapter, nothing else I wanted to say. Next chapter will hopefully be longer!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Four - No Fireworks Today

My fingers tremble as I hit the button to play Laura's last voicemail. Ever.

"Hi, Clint! I know you're out doing errands right now, but I thought that maybe we should start talking about how we want to spend our next anniversary. It's an extra special one, anyways. We've gotta plan something big for the day. Get a sitter? I think it's about time we had another overnight, what do you say? Fireworks, lots of time to ourselves, what could go wrong?" She takes a breath. "I love you. See you later."

The line goes dead.

The phone slips from numb fingers and clatters to the floor. I slump in bed and scrunch my face in my hands. The burning behind my eyes is a familiar feeling, the darkness an old friend, and the loneliness like a blade sticking me through.

 _Why? Why her? Why take her and my children?_

So long have I spent on the bed that now it dips under my weight, similar to how ours did in South Dakota. All the memories of our love come spilling in like an unplugged bottle.

I remember Laura's hands. How they would crawl and skitter to the other side of the bed to rub my shoulders, to tickle my sides and have me squirming under the blankets. The hands would turn into arms as they persisted, squeezing with attack and passion around my middle. They would pull me close. Legs knotted together, faces close, lips engaged. In the deep night, lights off, we'd be rolling on the floor in a heap together, only breaking apart to gasp for breath before we dive back in with tears of joy on our cheeks. Even in the queen-sized bed, there would exist no space between us. We were inseparable in each other's arms. Skin against skin, breathing life into the other.

I remember Laura's heart. The massive drumming of her strong, little heart under my calloused hand. Her rapid pulse in her wrist as we would dance, the music blasting somewhere nearby. Over the years, the wild craving to feel her heartbeat, to feel her hands, her lips, her presence, only had grown.

And now it's gone.

Gone.

And twenty years ago today was the first time we'd kissed as husband and wife.

Someone knocks on the door.

"Clint?"

 _Sam._

I press the heels of my palms in my eyes and moan my answer.

The door cracks open and Sam slips in.

Lowering my hands, I frown into my lap. "Come to counsel me again?"

Sam crosses his arms and perches on the edge of the bed. "No. I just want to know if you're okay. We've been realizing something's up."

I rub my empty ring finger with a growing ache in my chest. "What's today?"

"The fourth of July."

A shudder wracks my body. "Y-yeah."

"Come on, Clint. Let's set your mind off of whatever you're feeling and have a party tonight. We can have fireworks and games, all that stuff. It'll be such a huge event that Tony'll be jealous he wasn't there. It'll be– ."

"No."

Sam furrows his brow. "What?"

"No fireworks. At least not for me." I lean back against the pillows, curling and uncurling my fingers. "I'm staying here."

The veteran cross-examines me. After a moment, he takes a deep breath and pulls up a stool. "All right, Clint. Talk to me. What connection do the Bartons have to this day?"

The question drains my face of all color as Laura's face assaults my memory.

"Birthday? Celebration? Anniversary?"

I grumble under my breath.

"Huh?"

"The latter."

"So it's an anniversary?"

I say nothing. Instead, I continue to run my fingers over the place where my wedding ring should be.

Sam notices my anxious movement and tenses. "Wedding anniversary?"

"Twentieth. We– ," my words hitch on the rock in my throat, "we'd already planned out what we were going to do. We'd talked about it over and over. She-she'd been so excited about it and…" The tears blurring my gaze break contact and plummet downward. "It-it would've been so…so special…"

Sam reaches over and rests his hands on mine. "We can't change the past. We can't change what happened. But you can choose how to move forward and live like she would've wanted you to live. Remember her letter? The one that Laura wrote for you?"

I nod, sniffing.

"Read it. Over and over and over."

"I already have."

"Then read it again. That letter is Laura shouting in your face to get off your butt and do something with your life instead of sitting around, grieving."

A rush of heat evaporates my tears.

"Yes, they're gone. But you're not. You're still living. You've got to enjoy the life you have and be thankful that you had the privilege to know them and hold them and _really_ love them. And they loved you." Sam scoots closer. "Look at me, man. Clint, look up."

I obey.

"Your life didn't end with theirs."

"I joined the Avengers to become a fighter." I shrug. "But I just made myself weaker."

"Clint, that's not what happened. You didn't accept Fury's offer because you wanted to become a hero. It was _because_ you were such an incredible hero that Nick decided to recruit you. You're not nothing without Laura and the children, Clint. It may seem like it at the time, however, you are a hero. And a frikkin' good one at that. The Avengers wouldn't be anything without you. Remember Ultron? If you weren't there, they'd've been goners."

I smirk.

Sam stands. "I'm going to talk to Wanda about taking you to dinner tonight."

"Wh-what?"

"It's about time you get out of the compound. Oh, and Clint?"

I inhale with a grimace. "Mmm?"

"Put in your order for fireworks. We're setting 'em off, ready or not."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S** **NOTES:** Fireworks! It's another feel-good chapter, kinda like I Finally See You, but shorter, I think.

Read and review!


	46. Chapter Forty-Five - We're Connected

Once again...SUPER QUICK! My cousins are over and so I've had tons of time to write. Once school starts though, i can't guarantee fast chapter updates. I hope you'll enjoy the fast updates while they're here, though!

MECHANIC TONY AND FATHER TONY IN THE _SAME CHAPTER? **YAAAY!**_

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five - We're Connected

"Hey, Harley?" I hammer a new chest plate into my suit to replace the dagger strikes.

"Mmm?" Harley's voice interrupts him and Peter's conversation.

"What're you doin' up there?"

"Showing Peter my arc reactor replicas."

"Both of you, get down here. I need you."

The wooden stairs behind me thud with footsteps and the two teenagers appear at my sides. They respond in unison.

"Yes, Mr. Stark?"

I chuckle and clap my hands. "Pete, find a magnifying glass."

"Got it."

"Harley, you got a hologram program on your computer?"

"I think so."

"Set it up. I need it."

Harley hugs the jacket tighter around himself and rushes to comply.

I tap my chin with a pen, scanning the suit lying out on the desk. "Chest plate's done, dagger strikes closed. Now I gotta check the repulsor beams and acceleration tanks, fill the flare and missile pockets, review the aerodynamics and check if anything's been damaged and needs to be updated– ."

Peter sets the magnifying glass beside me.

I grab the tool and run it along the suit's damaged areas. "I gotta fix the axle so the gears'll work next flight test, work trajectory steering and Emergency Backup Power test, check for any buckle or brittleness…" The magnifying glass runs over the repulsor stabilizers and my stomach flips. "Gotta reignite the repulsor stabilizers on the feet, maybe design and build some Carbon fiber reinforced polymer to help support the skeleton of the reactor crater– And _man_ , is that coil spring in the wrong place. That fall must've knocked it out." I run my hands through sweaty hair. "Harley, status?"

"Um… I– ."

"Coming." I push off the legs of the desk and propel myself toward Harley in the swivel chair. "Move out the way– what's the problem? Why can't you figure this out?" My eyes dart around the screen, breezing through the apps and options. "You just hit command H, hold shift, type H-O-L-O-G-R-A-M, command L for launch. Option number fifty-two, virtual blueprint standby, command I for initiate, hit Enter. Ad nauseam." I withdraw and wiggle my eyebrows at Harley.

He huffs and rolls his eyes.

In front of the computer, a small, blue stadium blinks into existence. Boundaries like a boxing ring rise around its circumference and a holographic trashcan materializes off to the side. I collapse into the swivel chair. "Victoria? You with me?"

A smooth, electronic voice answers me. "Of course, Mr. Stark. What shall I do for you?"

Harley gapes at me. "You put an AI in my computer?"

"You didn't notice? Didn't even activate her on purpose?" I shrug. "Ah, not related. Vic, scan mode."

"Right away."

Two radiating circle pads pop above the virtual stadium. I grab them with tight fists and four words appear between my palms: _waiting for verbal confirmation…_ Widening the circles, I direct the words toward my broken suit and press my open hands toward it. The words dissolve in flashes of white and orange as the suit glows, the hologram outlining it like a cocoon. Control options, repairs, and related activity skitter along its perimeter. "Scan the suit. Display the necessary repairs on the hologram."

"Of course."

Peter strolls into the room, his face like the sun. "I didn't know you had all this, Harley!"

Harley chuckles. "Neither did I."

I twirl the swivel chair in circles and slump into its cushioned support, walking it over to the hologram beside the computer.

Peter taps my shoulder. "What else do you need, Mr. Stark?"

"Hold up. Workin' on it."

A full-body diagram of the Iron Man suit flickers in the boxing ring, the damaged sections red instead of blue.

I rub my chin and squint.

Harley and Peter lean in, eager to hear me speak.

"Okay, legs need work. The back of it suffered a little collision damage. Constant-velocity joints, transmission tweaking in the heads-up-display, tensile stress decreasing… Gotta make sure the chest plate doesn't launch into a complete structural and compositional failure with the reactor affected. Watch for simulation and check the seal, mass transfer communication tests, safety tests, flight tests, relief valve tests…" My stomach growls. "Input cheeseburger company numbers? Gotta have some way to contact the best fast food places."

Peter snickers. "But why do you have to do so much, Mr. Stark? The suit looks pretty fine to me."

"The reactor controls the whole suit. We've got to make sure nothing's wrong before we end up falling in midair like before. Victoria, show the current arc reactor."

"At once, Mr. Stark."

Rings of structure stacked one on top of the other replace the suit diagram. I pinch the second-to-last ring, which is colored black on the hologram to indicate the failure or lack of that artifact. "Harley, you got any palladium?"

"I-I think so."

"Welding gear? Acetylene or propane?"

"No."

"Smelting cup? Precision tools?"

"Nope."

"All right, fine. I'll need you and Peter to break down at least one-point-six grams of palladium. This reactor'll have a palladium core until I get back to Headquarters, then I can make a new one. Don't want death by palladium. Not again."

Peter starts. "'Again?' What do you– ?"

"Harley, grab me some copper wire, tweezers, a candle lighter, and a miniature mirror."

"Okay."

I shoot from the chair and slap my thighs. "Let's get started."

* * *

By the time I've finished with the repulsor stabilizers and beams, fiddled with the acceleration tank, and filled the flare and missile capsules, Peter and Harley have already retired to bed. I wipe dirty hands on a rag swung over my shoulder. Almost there. Just a couple more days until Peter and I'll be taking the ride– or the flight– home.

Rough hands creak open the door to the shed and a cold blast of air from outside lifts mountains of goosebumps. "Oh, that's brisk. I thought summer was supposed to be hot." Throwing on a jacket, I lock the shed's wooden doors behind me and stare up into the night sky. Low light pollution makes the stars shine twice as bright, like a reactor fresh from the workshop. It won't be long before I'll have one of those myself.

Entering the house, I toss my jacket over a nearby chair as I maneuver through the kitchen, but freeze as I spot a hunched figure at the table. "Harley?"

The teenager jumps at my voice. A capsule jar clatters from his hands. "Oh, hi, Tony."

"What're you doin' up so late? Stargazing?"

Harley pops something into his mouth and empties his water glass. "Couldn't sleep. You finish some work?"

I ignore his question. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Cold. I'm fine, Tony, really."

"You are not fine. Stop lying to the Mechanic." I grab the capsule jar and read the label. "Ibuprofen? What do you need that for?"

Harley rests his head back against the chair. "It-it was just a small headache, Tony, stop worrying. I'm going back to bed in a minute, then I'll get to sleep. Glass half-full approach."

"Well, _your_ glass is empty, so I'll get you some more water." I slap a palm on the cabinet above my head.

"No, not that cabinet!" Harley zips to my side and wrenches my hand away.

"Okay, wow. Not touchin' it."

"That's my…" Harley's eyes flutter shut and his legs buckle.

"Whoa, kid!" I dive to catch him.

After a few seconds, he waves off my help. "Just stood up too fast– I'm-I'm fine."

"Hang on." I mash a hand to the teenager's forehead and move down to his neck. The contact feels like ice against his volcanic skin, radiating with such an intense temperature that I'm vaguely surprised he's hasn't burst into flames already. I narrow my eyes at him. "Harley, you're a furnace."

Harley pulls away. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not. Stop crapping with me, kid. How long have you been like this?"

"Since-since before we– ." A huge shiver wracks his body. "Since before you guys got here."

"Huh. I remember you looking a bit peaked that day. All right, no helping tomorrow."

Harley's face falls. "Wh-what? No, I have to help you! I wanna help you! This is the first time I've seen you in five years and– ."

"Slow down, kid. If you're feeling better in the morning, I'll let you help a little bit in the shop, but until then, you'd better rest up and stop acting like you don't feel like roadkill in front of Tony Stark. You got that?"

Harley nods.

"Good. Now go to the living room and get a blanket. You're going to be so sick of me by the time morning gets here…"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** For some reason, I really think I thrived in this chapter with mechanic Tony. I love when he's rambling on about holograms, suit repairs, and tools because it shows just how complicated everything is and he's just taking everything in stride.

Read and review!


	47. Chapter Forty-Six - Room To Breathe

YAY! I've been waiting for this chapter forever! It was so emotionally invigorating to write.

I love Clint's suffering waaaay too much...

Within this chapter, I FINALLY REACHED _ONE HUNDRED_ **_THOUSAND_** WORDS IN THE ORIGINAL DOCUMENT. WOOOOOWWWWWW! I didn't even think I'd hit my past record, 74K! *dramatic gasping*

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Six - Room To Breathe

I scoop some chocolate ice cream into a bowl and lean against the counter, spooning myself the dessert with memories of Natasha's own hands feeding me the same thing. I can only hope that she's all right, but hope hasn't been that common of late.

The ice cream goes in five minutes, the speed increasing as the seconds tick by. I drop the bowl and utensil into the sink and I press my hands on the countertop, putting all of weight down. Trembling, I stare out the window. The trees, like black skeletons in the night, rustle in the faint breeze. Skeletons.

Of course my mind goes to something so close to death.

 _"_ _Clint. You are HYDRA's next target. You are the next to die."_

 _Nick… What did you mean?_

"Whatcha looking at?"

I twist my head at the sound of Wanda's voice.

She tiptoes in bare feet further into the kitchen, her short khakis and red sweatshirt completing her look.

"Oh, just…trees." I withdraw from the window to greet her. "How are you?"

Wanda shrugs and cracks a quirky smile. "I mean…as well as I could be doing with the fear of HYDRA around the corner at every turn."

My mood plummets. "Yeah." I wander over to the nearest cabinet. "You want some water?"

Wanda takes a seat at the table. "Only if you get some for yourself as well."

I wink at her. "Done deal." Fishing two glasses from the cabinet, I bring them over to the dispenser and watch as the water level rises within each cup. I turn around to find Wanda's intense eyes carving into me.

"And how are you?"

After a pause, I set the glass in front of her and sit beside her. "Yeah, I'm good. Good." My hand shakes as I lift the cup to my lips.

Wanda places her own hand on my shoulder and her eyes flood crimson. When she pulls away and the red fades from her gaze, she clenches her jaw. "What's really bothering you? Your thoughts are all over the place."

I run my tongue over my lips. "I-I need to talk to you about something. Or-or tell you…something."

Wanda angles her chair so she can meet my eyes, which she does with terrifying focus.

"I've known this for about a week and a half now and I wasn't sure whether to tell anyone able this because…it's what Nick told me alone the day he returned."

The teenager's chin twitches slightly at this statement. "Go on."

"He-he said that HYRDA's going to scratch targets off the list one by one and that…I'm the next one to die."

Wanda's attention flashes. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"And…and this scares you?"

I flatten out my right hand against the other and watch as the muscles quiver without control. "I-I… Yes. I _am_ scared... I'm scared of learning how in the world I'm going to live since the people I once lived _for_ are gone because I just don't understand how I– ." My rambling cuts off as I melt into tears, collapsing into my hands as the bottled feelings deflate from my body.

And Wanda doesn't say anything. No words of encouragement, no attempt to calm me down or stop my flow of tears, no counseling or wise advice, just a simple hand on my quaking shoulder. She offers nothing but soundless empathy as my inner demons overwhelm me.

After what stretches out for multiple long minutes, my tears dry and I lift my face from my hands.

Wanda watches me, a softness in her gaze the likes of which I've seldom experienced. Instead of taking her hand back, she moves her chair closer and begins to rub in-between my shoulder blades.

I drop my chin with a sigh. "I just miss them so much."

Once again, nothing comes from Wanda's mouth. She chooses action rather than words, and, in this situation, silence couldn't be more precious. It's only after I lay against the back of the chair does she start talking.

"You need to find a new identity, Clint. Whether you build it yourself or you search for it… Doesn't matter. The explosion that tore your family from you also destroyed your identity. Now you're lost. You don't know how to live anymore, what to live for, how to go about your life. You're broken. That's-that's how I felt when I lost Pietro and kind of when I joined the Avengers too. I'd been HYDRA's thug for so long and I loved my brother more than anything else. When I lost him and HYDRA, I didn't know who I was. So I had to build a new identity within the Avengers and find love and purpose where I had none."

I purse my lips. "How did you find it? Was it a long process or short?"

"It was a long process. Once you've been broken once, it takes a long time to put yourself together again. Every member of the Avengers helped me in some way. Mainly you and Vision. Each of them brought a piece of me together, gave me something to build myself upon. I had to recreate myself since the old me couldn't thrive anymore. Clint. You can't stay the same. You can't live like you used to."

A line from Laura's letter pierces me in the gut.

 _"_ _You used to fight for us, and in doing so, made you the best dad and husband ever. But if I'm gone, if they're gone…you need to rediscover who you fight for. You need to rediscover why you live. Life is changing, and if you don't want to change with it, then I'm sorry to say, there's not much luck in that."_

"I-I need to rediscover why I live."

Wanda's expression brightens and a tiny laugh escapes. "Yes, Clint, yes! Just like I had to do. Just like everyone's had to do at some point. You need to make a new you. The Clint that existed a few months ago with your family can't exist without them because your identity _was_ your family. So explore life, Clint! Find out what makes you happy and what makes you protective. What else do you love above it all? Who else would you fight for? What do you love doing? Why do you stay with the Avengers? What excites you about the battlefield? You need to rediscover life on a new level and ask these types of questions so you can start rebuilding yourself. You can't keep latched to the past because, in doing so, you're trying to stay the same and keep the same identity. You need to reinvent your life, Clint."

I chuckle. "My cheeks actually ache from smiling right now, y'know that?"

Wanda plays with a ball of energy. "Well, you don't smile that often anymore, so your face wouldn't be used to it."

Sudden tears blur my friend's figure. But not tears of sadness. I clasp her hands in mine. "Wanda…thank you. Really. I-I can't thank you enough for sticking with me, even when I'm being difficult."

The redhead accepts my grasp. "Well, I know what it feels like, so I'm feeling for you. We all are." She sends a fiery little spark of energy into my body and my heart rate increases. "And you weren't being difficult. I've had my share of breakdowns too and you were always there to help me. After all, if you step out that door…" She quirks an eyebrow at me.

I smirk. "You are an Avenger."

* * *

I bookmark a page of my archery book and set it off to the side, stretching out on my bed. Taking a deep breath, I fold my hands behind my head and blink up at the ceiling.

 _"_ _You need to reinvent your life, Clint."_

But how? How do you even begin? How–

My reading light dies.

I twist my head back and tap the lamp. Nothing.

 _Hmm. I just replaced it a few days ago. Weird._

Using my hands, I propel myself off the bed and grab my bow and quiver of arrows, which I'd thrown in the corner yesterday after attempting to train. Half of the arrows spill out of the quiver like a bushel of wheat as I lift it. Groaning, I bend to pick them and dump everything on the blankets to sort them out. "Might as well. Can't sleep anyway, even though it _is_ near eleven. Lucky me…" As I'm working, my ears catch the slightest sound behind my door, like a cat's knock. I ignore it, yet the sound comes again and this time, I'm sure of it.

I swear it sounds like the cocking of a gun.

"Sam? You can come in, you know."

No answer.

A cold chill spiders down my spine.

It's gotta be nothing. Right?

I rush to the door and yank it open.

No one.

Scoffing, shut the entry and I continue to fiddle with my bow, adjusting the settings and organizing the arrows in the quiver so every type is where it needs to be for the next battle. Even so…I still can't shoot straight. A red-hot haze of defeat washes over me as I recall the moment I'd realized that the explosion had knocked my perfect accuracy and, therefore, my worth to the Avengers out of place.

As I pause, the doorknob twists ever so slightly from behind me and gives way to the open entrance.

I grit my teeth and turn around. "You know, Sam, you can't just bust into my– ."

An armed figure stands in the shadows, the door closed behind him. From the silhouette, I note a few things: long, dark hair. A masked face. The thickness of attire, indicating body armor. And a giant gun in one hand.

"– room." I swallow hard and grab my bow with a nocked arrow. "Okay, who are you?"

He doesn't speak.

I send an arrow zipping toward him.

The man flings his left arm up and the clang of metal on metal flicks the arrow to the floor.

Metal arm.

I squint at the figure in the darkness. "Barnes?" Now the hair makes sense. But the mask…

HYDRA. Brainwashed.

 _"_ _Clint. You are HYDRA's next target. You are the next to die."_

Crap.

I dart toward my quiver.

Movement flashes from the shadows. Gun raised. Trigger. Smoke.

Pain rips through my side and I stagger.

Barnes lunges and slams me against the wall. His black, emotionless face emits breathless growls from behind the mask.

I fumble at his goggles and rip them off, revealing his dead, blue eyes. Twisting out of his weight, I dive for an arrow and plow into the window, shattering it. Glass shards fly around me and then I'm falling, watching my room get smaller as the night sky appears above the compound's roof. Outside. I mash a button on my bow and launch my arrow into the wall.

Hooked. Falling again. Hitting the wall.

I drop to the ground and tug the grappling hook from the compound.

The Winter Soldier lands in front of me and charges.

No openings. No escape.

Barnes smashes me against the wall for the second time and locks his metal fingers around my throat.

A gasp cuts off as I feel my esophagus snapping shut. My pulse roars, hammering against his grip like an endless drum. At once, I'm dizzy. My fingers claw against his, trying, trying, trying to free my airways. The metal hand is ice cold and he forces his silver fingertips into my skin, squeezing like a constrictor. Lungs craving for breath throb with pain. More of my energy leaves me with every pulse beat. I dig my fingernails into his arm in a last attempt, grinding my teeth in effort.

Burning panic surfaces as my heartbeat slows.

Slower.

Slower.

Slower…

The last thing I see is Wanda touching down behind Barnes before my eyes roll back and I collapse into darkness.

* * *

I jerk awake to the sound of breaking glass and my hands instinctively fill with red tendrils of energy. Rolling out of bed, I stretch my shoulders and strain for another sound. A huge thump rattles the edge of Headquarters. Throwing a gown over my nightclothes, I step out into the hallway.

Clint's room is open and from it blows a stiff breeze.

Danger creeps into my bloodstream as I rush into his quarters. The window's broken. Ignoring the shards under my bare feet, I hurry to the jagged hole.

Far below, the Winter Soldier has Clint in a death grip against the wall.

I send signals to the minds of the other Avengers: _Come quickly!_ Using my magic to ascend, I land in a flurry of scarlet behind the assassin and shiver as Clint goes limp in his grasp. One flick of my fingers pulls his hand away from Clint's throat. "Hands off."

The Winter Soldier whirls around, gun lifted.

I generate a psionic force field, which deflects the three shots fired.

One more bullet. Two. Three.

I block them all with ease.

Barnes snarls and hurls the gun away, advancing with a knife in his one gloved hand. With the speed of a snake, he sprints toward me and dodges my energy blast, grabbing my right wrist. He swipes at my arm and fresh blood splatters on my gown.

I tear myself away and hold his weapon in place. My teeth gritted, I ripple my fingers to intensify the energy flow and glance around for the rest of the team. _Where are they?_

The assassin breaks out of my spell and pitches the dagger at me.

The blade slices through my left shoulder as I duck. I recover, but the Winter Soldier is upon me, slapping his foot on my chest and pinning me to the wet lawn. His nightmarish silhouette blots out the stars as I block my face with my palms and fight to push him off.

He cocks his metal limb back…

A spinning bullet ricochets off the shining forearm and the Winter Soldier glares in the direction of the blast.

Sam dashes forward with Thor, Vision, Bruce, and Scott at his sides, each wielding different weapons.

Bruce drops to his knees at Clint's body immediately.

I hoist myself up on my elbows, panting.

Vision bolts to my side and helps me up. "Are you all right, Wanda?"

I nod. "I'm fine. Go help the others."

The android pauses.

I shake him off. "Go! I'm okay, really."

Vision gives in and floats to aid the other Avengers.

My fingertips crackle with unused power and I clench them into fists, trying to calm my impulsive nerves. I reopen my hands and search out Barnes. _He's being brainwashed. I could… Of course!_

The Winter Soldier is ruthless, feral and maddening in his attacks.

Keeping in mind to avoid detection, I sneak around the fighters and inch toward Barnes.

Closing in…

I dodge a few punches and pounce into the opening, spitting waves of magic into the Winter Soldier's mind.

His eyes glisten with crimson and he stops dead in his tracks, as do the rest of the Avengers.

I contort my fingers to reach deep into his thoughts and the psionic ribbons of energy pulse from my body. My jaws hurt from gritting my teeth so hard. _Come on, come on…_ With a jerk of my wrists, I solidify the intent.

A few seconds pass.

The Winter Soldier crumples to the ground like a rag doll.

I sink to my knees and release the breath I'd been holding.

Sam retracts his wings into his jetpack and lowers his pistols. "Okay, since when did Clint have a target painted on the back of his head?"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** And yes, I've already researched post-strangulation injuries for future chapters... MWAHAHAHAAA!

Wanda to the rescue!

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	48. Chapter Forty-Seven - The Fault Is Mine

Lots of medical dialogue here. I did the research! Yay!

Kind of a Clint whump as well. :D

FYI, after this chapter, I will be taking a pause from writing to plan out and brainstorm the next phase of this book. The finale is creeping up on us! *gasp*

As always, thanks for the continued reviews! They are truly a joy to read. :)

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Seven - The Fault Is Mine

I fit the helmet on with a click. "Thanks for that extra gear, Harley. Now, we're done."

Peter runs his hands over the fully-functioning Iron Man suit. "So it's finished? We can go home now?"

Harley turns his sorrowful face to me. "You're leaving already? Tony– !"

I throw my hands into the air. "There's no rush to leave, Peter."

"But Aunt May is furious."

"We can stay here for a couple more days if you want, Harley."

The teenager beams at me.

"How you feeling, kid?" I drop the pencil on his desk.

"Not bad. You'll stay, won't you?"

"That's what I said, didn't I? I'm not leavin' you with no one again. I'll just check the suit, take it for a couple more test runs and try all the features, then I'll give the final answer."

"Um…Mr. Stark?"

I whirl around at Peter's voice. He stands beside the suit, which is blinking from the eye slit.

"What's that?"

"Oh, it's just a message– don't worry about it. I'll probably be getting a bunch of those since the suit's been off contact for a couple weeks. Let's check this one out anyways." I stroll toward the suit. "Jarvis, who's it from?"

"This message is from Dr. Banner."

Victoria answers back with a statement of her own. "It appears to be an urgent call. I reviewed it just a few minutes ago and the situation seems to be dire."

Harley pales. "Is Mr. Banner…Bruce Banner? Like the Hulk?"

Peter nods. "That means it's from Headquarters. And it dates back to two Tuesdays ago…"

I plop into the swivel chair. "I'm sure it's nothing– Jarvis, answer it."

Bruce's body from the shoulders up blinks into existence in hologram mode. "Audio message. Hey, Tony. We've got a situation. You know the Nick that's been with us for the past two or three months? It's not him. It was Chameleon all along. We were tricked and we're just pawns in their game. Natasha, Bucky, and Cap are being captured. You need to get back here as quickly as possible so we can figure out what our next move should be. Thanks. Bruce and the team."

The message winks out.

My entire body trembles.

Too much information at once. Too much. So much.

Nick's a fake. He's Chameleon. Romanoff, Barnes, and Rogers are captured.

Rogers.

The last thing we'd said to each other…

 _"_ _Okay, look– What I'm really trying to say is…I'm sorry, Cap."_

 _"_ _Too late for that, Tony."_

A huge shudder pushes the breath I'm holding from my lungs.

They're captured. They're in trouble. Big trouble.

"Mr. Stark, what does that– ?"

"Peter, pack your backs."

"What?"

I shoot to my feet and whirl on him. "We're leaving _now_ , go pack up!" The wood shakes at my roar.

Peter sputters a response and rushes out of the shed.

I collapse back into the chair and rub my face. "Gods, Steve, why…?"

 _Why go and get yourself captured? Why? So like you to…get in trouble…_

 _"_ _All of your strength, your grandeur… You protect people and fight your battles just to cover up how much of a_ liar _you are."_

Shivering, I hoist myself to my feet and exit out of hologram mode on my suit. My hand slides off the helmet. I can sense Harley watching me.

 _If I'm so certain that it's Steve's fault…why then do I feel so responsible?_

* * *

I wake up slowly and the first thing that almost forces itself into my immediate awareness is how hard it is to breath.

Not only is it hard, but every attempt _burns._ Like I'm swallowing sharp knives.

Scrunching my eyebrows, I try to fill my lungs with air, despite the pain.

My chest tightens like a snake applying death by constriction. Intense, pressurized, trapped.

Once more, I strive to breathe.

I can't.

It's not coming. I can't breathe. My heartbeat surges as the realization slaps me in the face. My hunger for air blooms with such panic that my hand flies to my throat with a strangled gasp.

"No!" Someone pulls my hand away. "Don't touch."

I blink open my eyes, fixing them on the first moving thing in my sight.

Bruce.

My vision blurs and I grit my teeth.

 _I can't breathe. I can't breathe._

Something clatters to the ground nearby and fingers fumble with a clear object around my face. An oxygen mask locks into place and, with a hiss, the surface fogs up with air. Finally I'm breathing. With a raspy sigh, I drop my head back and shut my eyes.

"Clint, status. You breathing?"

I give him a wordless thumbs-up. After a couple minutes of savoring the oxygen running in and out of my body, I roll my head to a place where I can see Bruce.

The doctor crosses his legs on a swivel chair and writes notes on a clipboard. "Obvious dyspnea."

I open my mouth to ask what's happened, however, as soon as I start, a burning rasp in my throat sends me into a coughing fit for a solid minute.

Bruce wheels to my side and fixes his shadowed expression on me.

Another venture to speak results in a painful searing in my throat like grating sand against my vocal cords.

Banner squints at me. "You can't talk?"

I shake my head with wide eyes.

"Don't panic." He adjusts dirty glasses and leans over his clipboard. "Aphonia… Does it hurt to swallow, Clint?"

One try combined with a grimace proves Bruce's question.

"And…odynnophagia."

My brow furrows at all the medical terms. "Wh– ?" Once more, the pain cuts my speech short.

Bruce sets the clipboard in his lap. "All right, Clint. I'm gonna tell you what's wrong with you medically, and then tell you what happened. Don't suppose you remember?"

My silence grants another answer.

"Okay, you were shot in the side. Soviet slug, no rifling, but from just a couple feet away. Clean shot, clear entrance and exit points. I've stopped the bleeding and bandaged it. Moving will only make it hurt worse, so don't."

I was shot. Ambush?

My memory speeds up.

Winter Soldier. Nighttime attack. Wanda.

My focus wanes.

"You remember?"

I nod.

"Barnes broke into Headquarters and pointedly attacked you. If Wanda hadn't reconfigured his mind, you'd be dead. He tried to strangle you, which has lead to, like I said, aphonia, dyspnea, and odynnophagia: loss of voice– a complete loss from what I've seen on you so far– breathing difficulties, and painful swallowing. There was immense irritation and swelling in your vocal cords. You need to let them rest." He puts a pen behind his ear. "And massive marks and bruises on your neck."

I start to rip the oxygen mask off with a frown.

Bruce leaps up and mashes it back on. "Don't take it off! I'll have you on supplemented oxygen for…maybe a couple more hours, then I can see how your dyspnea's doing. In top conditions, _if you do what I tell you,_ your voice should come back within a couple days and same with recovery time on your odynnophagia. Your bruises'll heal within a week."

I start to talk, however, the agony stops me.

Right. I can't speak.

Great.

Bruce hands me the clipboard with a fresh piece of paper on it. "You want to write it down?"

Thanking him with a quick nod, I scribble the question.

 _"_ _How's everyone else?"_

"They're okay. No one else really got injured other than Wanda."

Everything tenses.

"Nothing much, just a couple gashes from where Barnes sliced her with a knife. Other than that…Barnes himself actually is also injured pretty badly. Deep wounds on the side of his head, concussion symptoms, bruises, and lines on his right forearm cut so deep that they'll never fully heal. They'll leave scars. It's-it's obvious he was tortured. Then brainwashed. Speaking of which, I should probably go check on him. He woke up halfway a couple hours ago." Bruce pats me on the shoulder before getting up. "Try not to a hold a grudge."

* * *

My metal arm whirs in response to my toiling emotions inside as Banner enters into my medical room.

"Oh, you're awake."

I stay quiet and ignore the fierce throbbing of my head. "What did I do?"

He presses his fingers gently against the bandages on my temples. "How are you feeling?"

I pull away. "Don't."

"I need to monitor your bleeding."

"What did I do?"

"What do you remember?"

I clench my fists.

Answering a question with a question. Nice tactic. "I remember pain. And losing myself in the trigger words. Then nothing."

Bruce purses his lips. "You broke into Headquarters and attacked Clint."

A sudden rush of dizziness quickens my breathing. "How bad?"

"I'm not telling you that."

I slam my metal arm on the edge of the bed and glare at him. "Yes, you are."

Reluctantly, Bruce proceeds to list Barton's injuries.

My pulse races and a stab of cold pierces me in the core. I stare into my lap. "I did it again. I hurt someone."

 _Why couldn't I fight it? Why didn't I break myself out of it? Why did I comply?_

 _I'm weak. Of course I can't._

Banner begins to replace my bandages. "It's not your fault. It's not like you let yourself be brainwashed."

The back of my throat aches with unshed tears.

 _"_ _It's all right, Steve. To save my friends…I could do this all day."_

I shake my head. "Yes, I did."

"What?"

"I chose to let them take me because they were going to hurt Steve and Natasha." The plates on my metal limb contract and release with incredible speed as my feelings darken. "It's my fault."

Banner continues his work, sighing. "Well, I can't make you feel any better about this without repeated what others have said already. You'll have to work this out by– ."

Sam bursts into the room. "Doctor Banner, he's here."

Bruce throws a handful of gauze onto the table. "Who?"

"Stark. He's back."

My blood heats up under my skin.

 _Oh, gods._

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Tony's back! Yay!

Post-strangulation injuries, yeeeeeaaaahhhh...

:D

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	49. Chapter Forty-Eight - Fatal Mistake

Not a very long chapter, but then again, some chapters are not very short but contain some story-necessary stuff.

Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews! I appreciate you guys 3000. :D I'm so humbled by how many reviews I have and how many people see these chapters...

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Eight - Fatal Mistake

I burst into the compound and fold my helmet back, observing the current state of affairs.

Sam rushes up to me and glances at Peter by my side. "Where were you guys?"

"Salem. Fightin' Vulture. Didn't hear about it?"

"I flew all the way there, Metal Man. Nothing."

I step out of my suit. "We left. Took a vacay. Had to fix my suit."

Bruce shakes his head from among the throng of Avengers. "Fix your suit? What-what happened? Where– ?"

"Hold up, Jolly Rancher, not so fast. Gimmie a minute."

"And you shouldn't have one!"

I whirl in the direction of the voice coming from the kitchen.

Pepper stomps toward me, her hair back in a fiery knot and her fists clenched white. Her face may as well be an oven.

As she approaches, I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. "Cool down, Pep. I don't wanna have to grab an oven mitt before you– ."

"You've got some nerve!" She breezes right past Peter and crushes her hand around my shirt's collar. "Leaving for two weeks without confirmation, contact, or any message at all!"

I flinch. "Technically it wasn't two weeks. And I didn't have– ."

"I don't care! You can't just forget about me! Or them!" She jerks her head toward the team. "We were all waiting, waiting, waiting for you– ."

"You knew where Pete and I were going, Pep."

" _Oh,_ sure." She destroys her ponytail and her volcanic hair attacks her shoulders with frizz and fire. "And then you think it's okay to completely abandon us without telling us anything?"

"Pep– !"

"We needed you, Tony. I needed you!"

I grip her wrist and grit my teeth. "I didn't have any choice!"

Pepper holds my gaze. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Remember Vulture? The one Pete and I went after? I suppose you don't care, but we failed." I pull Peter close against my side, taking care to not jolt his injured arm. "We didn't kill him. We didn't even capture him. The police did that for us because we were too busy _bleeding out_ to do anything about it!"

Pepper's eyes bulge. "Wh-what?"

Murmurs float through the team.

Bruce steps out of the group. "What are your injuries?"

I brush it off, still keeping Pepper in focus. "We were taken care of; it's fine. We had some friends in Salem heal us."

The doctor frowns. "Well, you're obviously not fully healed. I'm gonna get you a checkup, asap."

"You do that, Doc."

"Tony." Pepper nods to my repaired suit. "What happened? Tell me– us– everything."

* * *

"And then my suit powered back up. I got the message." I grind my teeth together. "We left at once."

Peter fidgets beside me.

My attention wanders to Wanda and latches onto a couple bandaged gashes on her arm and shoulder, stained red. "Banner, what's wrong with her?"

His expression darkens at the question. "Yeah, speaking of which, something kinda happened while you were gone. There– ."

An elevator dings nearby and Clint stumbles out, a shining veil of perspiration over his features.

Bruce shouts a sharp exclamation and hurries to his side to support him. "Clint, what are you _doing?_ "

Clint releases the clench in his jaw and makes a few hand motions that, paired with his expression, indicate some sort of rebellious desire that, of which, Bruce disapproves.

"I told you stay _upstairs._ You're gonna get your GSW bleeding again."

I hold up my hand. "Wait, GSW?"

Clint's eyes dart to me at my voice and he stands a bit straighter with a wince.

"Hey, Clint. Happy to see me?"

He shakes his head and taps his throat.

I swallow hard at the sight of Barton's neck, swollen with massive, black bruises accented by a face so pale that I could've easily mistaken it for a window shade. "You're not talking? Wow, you must really hate me."

That statement gains me multiple scowls.

Bruce helps Clint to a chair and turns to me. "Okay, what happened was– ."

"No need, Banner." A new voice vibrates from the group and a figure pushes to the front. "This'll say it all."

I do a double take.

No amount of ice can cool the rush of heat that explodes into my veins.

Bucky.

My hands curl into fists. "What're you doing here, Barnes? Took the chance to run and abandoned Romanoff and Rogers?"

The soldier doesn't move a muscle. "No. I was tortured, brainwashed, and sent here. After _him_." He juts his chin toward Clint with a shadow to his eyes.

"And I guess you succeeded by the looks of him."

Bruce leans toward Clint's side, running his hands over a bandage. "You took your oxygen mask off, didn't you? Are you breathing all right?"

After further observation, I note that Barton's stiff and trembling. His chest barely moves.

Bruce growls. "Obviously not well enough. Come on."

The two, patient and doctor, retreat into the same elevator Clint had come from and detach themselves from the group.

I switch my attention back to Barnes. "Anyway, _Barnes,_ I need to fix my reactor before I drop dead in a week so move outta the way."

The rest of the team files out without many questions and Peter hovers innocently at my side.

I tromp forward a couple feet only to find that Bucky hasn't budged.

"Please, Tony, I need– ."

"Give it up, soldier." I shove him away from me and scoff, continuing to stride toward my workshop. "You're makin' no progress with this shining heart. Cap's blood's on you, jackrabbit! Your fault!"

Barnes doesn't quit. His voice follows me across the room.

"I know HYDRA's fatal mistake. It'll lead to their downfall."

"Don't wanna hear it."

"You do. I know it."

I pivot on my heel. "Fine. Spit it out."

"Their biggest mistake was sending me here."

"What, so you can say, 'woe is me, I'm too weak,' and wallow in your own self-pity?"

"No." Bucky's metal arm is thrown into a long series of clicks. "You've never been able to get into the base before and…"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you saying…?"

"Yes, Tony. I can get you in."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Welp, Clint still can't talk.

And OOOOOOOOO a bad thing happening for a good cause...

I love story convenience and aha moments :D

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	50. Chapter 49 - Operation Compromised

Wow, so excited to get into Tony and Bucky's mission to rescue Steve and Nat!

I've also successfully planned out the entire rest of the book! AUGH I DON'T WANT IT TO END... T^T

I think I thrived in description particularly in this chapter.

Responding to some reviews...

 **Guest:** _(chapter 48)_ As always, thank you for your reviews! I love all the questions. :D Yes, the message on Bucky's arm will stay there, unfortunately. As for the questions about HYDRA's plans...I'll have to let the writing do the talking. But I will say this...they are _so_ much smarter than before and Rumlow knows more than the Avengers think he does... HEHEE!  
 _(chapter 49)_ Hahahaaa! I laughed so hard at the beginning of that review! The sass in that comment, my goodness xD

 **Amethyst Glowburst Goldenwind:** Thanks for the guess about the future! That's actually a good idea–

 ** _–after this chapter, anyone who would like to can write their guesses for the future of the characters and the story in a review. :D It's so fun to read them and it helps me as a writer to see where my writing is taking readers' minds..._**

 _OH ANOTHER THING:_

Anyways...

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Nine - Operation Compromised

My jaw works back and forth as I pilot the Quinjet through the fog, clutching the wheel with flesh and metal fingers alike. Sweat gathers on my crumpled brow. Metallic footsteps thump in the space behind me, indicating Tony's continuous pacing. I inhale to speak, but the silence is too valuable to break. And too painful. Is this the first time I've been alone with him? Ever? Gods, what I wouldn't give have Steve and Natasha with me instead of… I glance back at Stark, his stealth suit gleaming in the shadow of the wings. Bringing my attention back to piloting the jet, I flick a few switches and reach down to pull a lever.

The airborne vehicle cuts through the vapor like a knife to the sky and, as the fog clears, the snowy region of Siberia looms in the distance among ocean-rocked terrain. A jagged mountain range like a rusty ribcage ascends through the snow. The faces of each peak shiver with authority, even from afar.

My metal arm locks tight, sending a zing through my nerves.

Man, what a week.

I pull back my right sleeve and, one word at a time, reveal the message.

 _"_ _Guilty."_

With a shudder and a gasp, I shove the sleeve back.

Tony stops pacing behind me.

His eyes are on me. I can feel it. The burning on my back makes me positive that the look is far from pleasant.

It's been a day since Tony had returned. We've hardly spoken a word since his retreat to the workshop, and why would we?

Ever since the Civil War…

 _"_ _He's my friend."_

 _"_ _So was I."_

Not only is that exchange striking to the core every time it crosses my mind, but one thing leaves me blank.

 _"_ _So was I."_

So was I. So Tony would've considered me a friend before the footage of December sixteenth? I mean, we'd been allies before, sure, but… _friends?_

Those are brave words. And it doesn't apply to Tony and Steve anymore. Not sure if it ever did.

I slow the Quinjet and switch it to autopilot, staring down at the angry waves below us. With a shaking breath, I hoist myself to my feet and turn around, keeping my focus on the ground as I stomp past Tony to the back of the jet. Tony doesn't make a move as I drop to my knees before my meager travel bag I'd packed just minutes before leaving and shuffle through its light contents. My eyebrows screw together. _Where is it…?_

A journal slaps on the floor beside me, jolting me from my search with a muted cry.

"Lookin' for that?"

I pretend not to notice Tony's cold tone and cross-examine the journal.

Blue. Tagged with dozens of post-its. One long scar down its moleskin cover.

I snatch it up, growling. "That's private."

Tony scoffs. "Not to me. Don't leave your stuff out in the open."

Grumbling under my breath, I crack open the journal to a particular page and smack it out in front of me. "There. That's what I remember from the base. I scribbled it down earlier."

"You obviously don't know how to draw."

I shoot to my feet. "You didn't exactly give me a lot of time to both heal and pack up."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Don't need it. Bet you're used to all this crap, aren't you?"

"That still doesn't doesn't mean I have to like it." I jab the book toward him with my toe. "What does that look like to you?"

"Crap. Fix it."

My teeth clench so hard that a zap of pain laces through my neck. "Stop. We need to try to communicate here."

"Yeah, sure. Like that's ever gonna happen." Tony shrugs and leans against a locked square contraption.

"Don't lean on that."

"What?"

"That helps the Quinjet withstand being underwater."

"You call this a Quinjet?" Stark rams his foot into the side. "This is a piece of junk."

"Okay, I– Tony– ." I pause to take a deep breath.

"What? Can't deal with me?"

"That's the problem. I have to deal with you, and you with me. Y'know why? Because if we don't have good, or, at least, fairly adequate, communication, then we're one hundred percent getting caught. We need to find some way to…to…"

Tony pushes the journal away and approaches me. "All right, jackrabbit. What's– ?"

"Don't call me that."

"What's your plan?"

I force myself to hold his gaze. "Get to the jail. Get them out. Escape."

Tony's pupils tremble and his eyes dart over my solemn face for multiple long seconds. "You've gotta be kidding me. _That's_ your plan?" He closes in and grabs my metal wrist.

"Hey, back off!" I withdraw from his red-hot attitude.

"We're about to break into the most hidden base of all of HYDRA run by a bloodthirsty psychopath who did _this_ ," he points a finger to my right forearm, "to you, and you're just going to assume that you can stroll in with a dunce hat on, ask for your friends, and then walk right back out with no fight?"

"No, that's not what I– ."

" _Wow,_ 'cause that's what I heard!"

"It's hard to make a plan when– ." I stop short.

"When what? Spit it out, Barnes."

"When-when you're afraid to talk to your said _partner in crime._ "

Tony sneers and, for a split second, I see Rumlow in his smile. "You're afraid of me? Gorgeous. What a wonderful outcome." He whirls around and stalks over to the controls, taking the wheel. "We won't talk to each other then. Different plans. Different missions. Fine with me."

My stomach churns as I fold back my sleeve to review the message once more.

 _"_ _They want you. And they want him back."_

 _"_ _Who?"_

 _"_ _The monster."_

A swell of dizziness sends the room into an ocean and I stagger against the wall, breathing heavily.

I can't go back to Rumlow. I can't.

We'll find Steve and Natasha, then leave. Easy as that. One day trip.

Tony glances back. "Don't die on me, soldier. I may hate you, but still need you."

I rub my forehead. "Yeah, right."

"What's the matter? Forgot your polisher rag?"

I study the ocean's tide through the window. "We're still a couple hours out from the base's entrance."

"But Siberia's close."

"I know where we're going."

"But I don't. You fall asleep on me, and we're done for."

Instead of give in to the humor that Tony perceives as his default personality, in his presence, I can't avoid the inevitable:

 _"_ _This isn't gonna change what happened."_

 _"_ _I don't care. He killed my mom."_

I wrap my arms around my chest, sucking in deep breaths of oxygen. Pain rises in the back of my throat and I, upon swallowing, find that nothing can quell the ache.

The Civil War had been my fault. All of it. And still, with HYDRA's mind control remaining, the fighting might never stop.

 _"_ _Sergeant Barnes…"_

Howard's bloody face, marred by my silver fist, flashes in my memory.

Even now, I can recall the drumming of Maria's pulse against my hand, growing slower and slower in my grip. It had been the hold of the ghost himself, with force and devilish commitment.

I raise my metal limb to eye level and watch as the plates shift and curve in response to my emotions.

 _I've ended the lives of so many._

Blinking up at Stark's motionless frame directing the Quinjet, I ignore my upset stomach and advance in conversation. "T-Tony?" My voice cracks.

"What?"

I flinch at his tone.

"Are we ever going to talk about it?"

Stark visibly winces. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. Please, Tony… Isn't there some way we can– ?"

Tony smashes a balled hand on the control desk. "Shut up, Barnes!"

I close my mouth.

"Especially not with _you_ here. _You_ killed them after all. Done. Over."

"I remember everything, Tony. I remember what it felt like to…you know…do what I did, and I felt like a monster. I was under HYDRA's control– ."

"That doesn't excuse the fact that you destroyed my life with your little bloodbath fiasco that night." By the tightness of every word, I sense that Stark's taking great care to preserve a steady tone. His fingers are tightly closed around the controls.

"What I'm trying to say is that…it's not a pleasant memory for me either. If you think that I live in that memory with pride of the blood on my hands, I don't. And I'm sorry."

"Too late for that, Barnes."

That line jolts a recollection of what Steve had told me. "That's what you told Steve, wasn't it? When he tried to make things up to you?"

Tony freezes. "And?"

"I was wondering…why were you so eager to leave in the first place? I thought you…hated Steve."

"Oh, look, there's that mountain that you were talking about earlier." Stark wrenches the wheel sideways so hard that I have to clutch the wall to stay in one position. "How long did you say?"

"Don't change the topic."

" _How long?_ "

"M-Maybe a couple hours."

"Good. You pilot us until we get there. I'm gonna go…collect my bearings."

I replace his spot and watch him retreat into one of the wings, my chest hurting worse than it had before.

 _How are we ever going to be able to work together?_

* * *

"Tony, we're getting close."

Stark stomps beside the pilot's seat and smacks a hand on the back of the chair. "Okay, what's your plan for getting in? How much security is there?"

"There are agents at every corner, every door, every entrance… If even one of them sees you, they'll attack both of us immediately and warn Rumlow."

"So basically we need to try to get in without raising the alarm."

"Yeah. I was thinking that I act like the Winter Soldier, but that I'd failed and returned without Clint."

"But not even one agent can see me. I'll use my stealth suit."

"Right. So you'll stay in the jet until I can get all of the agents clustered in some part of the garage."

"Then what?"

"Do you have anything that'll knock them out and won't cause a racket?"

"Yep. I have everything."

I clench my jaw. "To take them _all_ out?"

"I said so, didn't I? Also I can still follow you. I have the retroreflective panels on my suit, so I'll be invisible."

"Hang on, if you can turn invisible, can't you just sneak in with me?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"Gosh, you're taking too long. ETA?"

"Five minutes. Leave me alone."

"Fine."

The Quinjet breaks the glassy blue of the ocean's surface and dives nose-first. The cockpit flashes navy as the snowy sunlight pierces the water from above. Sapphire cities of life teem around the vehicle in towers of crabs and coral. Fish scuttle out of the path. Marine treasure troves drift in the depths as the engine propels the underwater jet farther into the unknown. The pressure of the deep ocean roars. I tilt my head up toward the surface where only a tiny pulsing dot of light indicates how low we are.

One second. Two seconds. Three.

The light winks out.

The Quinjet is thrown into complete shadow, so pitch-black that I can't even see my metal arm in front of me. After a few moments, the control desk and wheel flicker to the night setting and Tony's suit from beside me wears veins of light. Apart from the faint groan of the jet's progressive movement, no sound penetrates the quiet of sea travel. No bubbles spiral around us. No animals. No life.

Just black, dead space.

Farther.

Farther.

Down.

Finally, Tony breaks the precious silence with a gravely, rhetorical question. "Geez, how far down is this place?"

I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. "This is where Steve and Natasha were taken. Far, far down. Deep down."

The cloak of twilight gives way to a huge stack of submerged buildings with lights outlining every wall and corner. The sunken metropolitan mystery looms over the tiny Quinjet like a skyscraper to a crumb.

"Wow, that playground's massive."

"And most of it's under the rocks." I reach over and press a giant button. "And there's the signal to open the garage. Get down."

"You can't tell me what to do. I've got my own safety under control." The panels on his suit ripple and Tony's frame disappears. "Set this thing on autopilot. I want you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Do it."

"Okay…?" I comply.

"Give me your Winter Soldier face."

I cock my head. "Are you kidding me? What's the point of this?"

"Okay, you're _not_ Barnes right now! You're the Winter Soldier! If you can't fake the evil assassin, then what hope do we have?"

"Fine!" I strike a defensive pose and scrunch my eyebrows over my pupils.

"Nope. Let your hair fall into your face."

Done.

"Frown at me."

Done.

"Okay, lose the glare. Just stare at me like you want to kill me. Intense."

I allow my eyes to glaze over with thought, images darting through my mind. Howard and Maria. The gun in my hand. My trigger-happy fingers flexing at the barrel. The monstrosity in my intent. My hunger to kill, to kill, to kill. To see blood. To spread blood. To feel it dripping off my hands–

" _That's it._ That's the look I'm talking about." Tony claps his hands. "Listen to me, jackrabbit. If you're provoked, you need to lash out. Kill them if you have to. I've seen footage of you under their control. You're like a snake in a man's body, so you need to act like it."

A signal blares from underneath and the sea floor opens up.

I inch toward the button to release the drawbridge. "A snake, you say? Don't Tread On Me."

Tony makes a gagging sound. "Ugh, that sounds like something Steve would say."

"Exactly."

The Quinjet drops sluggishly into the opening in the rocks and enters into a spacey, metal cage of a garage, the walls decorated with nothing but smears of paint and the HYDRA symbol. Spots of red scattered around the ground and single door indicate the number of agents. Dozens upon dozens swarm around the LZ like predators sharing a kill.

Rumlow's no where to be seen.

After the soaking Quinjet bumbles to a stop, the engine shrouds the vehicle in white clouds.

Tony sticks a comm into my ear. "Open the curtain, it's showtime."

Trembling fingers hover over the button.

"No messing around, _hit it!_ " Stark spanks my hand onto the switch and, with a hiss of white vapor, the drawbridge lowers.

Steam leaks into the jet and masks my entrance. Fog crawls around my body and my flesh arm streaks cold. The chill from the vapor freezes my expression in the signature dead look that solidifies my fake identity. Step by step, I strut out of the jet.

The agents part to let me pass, black armor streaking with the HYDRA symbol.

I fight not to make contact with any of them until the man barring the door lifts his head to stare me down. Ragged facial hair drips down his head like black blood and his mouth sets in a firm line. A nose like a rusty hook scrunches as his dry lips smile. Sunken, bloodshot eyes carve into mine. "You failed, _Soldat._ " The Sokovian accent doesn't go unnoticed.

"You're new."

"Ah, yes. I forgot my manners. I am Agent Lars, the new second in command since Red Skull had that little…accident." He punches a few keys on the pad beside the knob and the door slides open.

My hand creeps to my gun holster.

"I'll be taking you to Rumlow, _Soldat,_ for he's been eager to play with your blood since you left… And now you've returned with no one. Not even a body. Pity…"

"I'd like a second chance."

Agent Lars sticks out his lower lip. "Aw, haven't you figured out by now? Rumlow doesn't _give_ second chances, for time is too valuable. To you, as well."

A crackly voice escalates the tension. " _Agent Lars? Status?_ "

Rumlow.

Lars backs up into the open entrance and holds a fingertip to his ear. "Barnes is here. _And_ he's brought someone with him…"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

...

...

...

...

...

DUN

DUN

DAAAAAA!

Read and review!


	51. Chapter Fifty - A Virus Named Closure

Okay, I'M ALIVE! Haha, it's been a little while! I had to do more planning for the HYDRA base then I thought and I've had a lot going on these last couple weeks anyways.

OKIE DOKIE, down to business. Ummmm...

This is random, but MCU update! A month or so ago, I started Agents of SHIELD! IT. IS. SO. GOOOOOODDDD! I fell in love with the characters immediately and, for those of you who have seen it, I have picked my favorite. Fitz is forever! HE'S MY FAVORITE! FitzSimmons as well. :D I've loved the show so much that I'm already a couple episodes out from season 4... xD So...maybe some Agents of Shield fanfiction coming in the future? One-shots, short stories, full stories, IDK. Keep watch!

STORY NOTE: The message on Bucky's arm! I changed it due to a critique I got from a friend. Instead of "you'll never escape us," it's simply, "guilty."

Responding to some reviews...

 **Guest:** Agent Lars! He's not MCU canon, he's from my head xD I probably should've clarified that, but whatevs. Also, _no worries **at all**_ about long/double reviews! Getting reviews can very easily make my day and I love love love hearing what people think about my stories. About your second review, thank you about your comments on Tony and Bucky's submergence! That description is one of my favorites. :D Thank you so much for bringing to my attention what "down under" _really_ means! Haha, before that review, I thought it just meant going underwater, but when I looked it up after your review, it does indeed mean Australia/New Zealand! No worries, you didn't offend anyone over here! Thank you for addressing that possible reaction, though– I appreciate it! So anyways, thank you for saying that! I changed that chapter title twice before I settled on a name that I liked. :D Thanks for reviewing! It's a pleasure to get your feedback. :D

 **Amethyst Glowburst Goldenwind:** Oh, that's an interesting sign! Yeah, I've heard of that saying before. I had to look it up to find out what it meant :D Thanks for reviewing!

 **FIN RESPONSES**

I'm so in love with this chapter name UGH 3 LOVE IT. Whenever I'm naming a chapter, I always think of the emotions in the chapter, an event, or piece of dialogue and then find a poetic way to nod to that related something based on what I choose. If it's dialogue, sometimes I directly connect it to the title, sometimes not. With this title... "closure" is said a couple times, but the overall name was also inspired from Agents of SHIELD... HA!

So excited to get some responses to the cliffhanger in this chapter... MWAHAHA!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it**

* * *

Chapter Fifty - A Virus Named Closure

My Winter Soldier demeanor shatters inside at those words.

 _No. He knows. How? Why? Can he see Tony? Is his suit working? No, please. We've come too far for this._

Agent Lars gestures into the base. "What, aren't you coming? It'd be a pity to come so far for a visit only to turn back now. After all, you've got a captain to save…"

 _Oh, come on, does he know our whole plan?_

I force myself to pass through the entrance. The heavy doors latch behind us.

I trail after Agent Lars and weave through a main corridor with a beam of light at the end. Areas of shadow branch off from the main hall, indicating additional pathways. Glancing behind me, the entrance through which we'd arrived grows smaller.

Tony's voice tickles in my ear. "Barnes, stay calm. You're as white as a pile of bones right now. When I say go, duck into the nearest alley. We need to lose him."

Agent Lars freezes in his tracks.

I almost collide into his back.

"Jackrabbit, go!"

I scramble into a splitting pathway and slam my back against the wall. Only the overhanging specter of tension stops me from breathing as I peek over at Agent Lars.

Staring at us.

I zip back into the shadows with a jerk so quick that my hair smacks my face.

The couple seconds of silence that follow equal the feeling of countless hours spent on the Quinjet.

Long.

Drawn out.

Terrifying.

I don't dare to breath. The spike of his attention is like fire, burning somewhere nearby. My lungs ache. My palms sweat.

Footsteps retreat in a different direction.

I deflate with a massive exhale and slump against the wall. _He's gone._

"Get up, Barnes!" The crackly tone in the comm reaches me with dizzying volume. "You can't act suspicious in front of everybody. And Lars doesn't know that Tony Stark is here, just someone. I scanned him and there's nothing alien about him. He just knows that you brought someone else. This one's smart."

"Tony, he saw us leaving. Just now. Escaping. You think he _isn't_ gonna tell Rumlow?"

"HYDRA's got something on their mind."

"Yeah, like what? Killing us?"

"No. They've got a plan. And a good one. No agent would let us run off if it wasn't part of a plot. You heard what he said before. He was expecting you. And he knew you were coming to save Rogers."

"Still– ."

A flashlight flickers at the end of the corridor.

I stop dead and click my head to the left. Frozen between escape and avoiding sound, I keep motionless.

The white shine gets brighter and a masked agent tromps past the doorway. The light fades away.

"Okay, Barnes, listen up. We're in. What now?"

"Get to Steve and Nat. The only thing I remember is that they're deep inside the base. This place is a labyrinth and it's huge. With multiple floors. We'll need to evade the patrolling guards, avoid any traps or plots set to kill us, and some doors have auto-locking systems, so be careful of that. These agents range from mediocre to skilled, so any of them could aim right and take you out with one bullet."

"Sounds pleasant."

"I don't remember a whole lot about this base, so…we're going in blind."

"Literally."

"We need to work together or Steve and Nat aren't coming out."

"Yeah, likely story, _Barnes._ Don't forget, I kinda hate you right now. I'm making my own plan, but thanks for the pep talk."

" _We're sticking together._ Wherever you are."

"Only physically. I don't have to like it."

I struggle to my feet and steel myself for the mission. "No, you don't." My metal hand creeps down to my waist and I rip a large gun from its holster. "Charlie Op, HYDRA breach. Strictly rescue."

"Good thing we agree on something. Let's go. Divided."

"United."

* * *

Often have I described the memory of the Starks' assassinations as a ghost, hovering constant over my guilty mind. Now, sneaking through a HYDRA base with Tony's invisible presence somewhere beside, the statement's proven true as his silent, metal body quite literally looms over me.

The walls of the pathway in which we're hiding curl inwards as they near the intersection. The sound of footfalls echo from another corridor, as well as the faint vibrations of our own. I slink forward toward the split, my fingers perspiring at the trigger.

"Tony, remember. There was a HYDRA agent around here. Eyes up."

"Stop ordering me around. You can't tell me what to do."

I drop my gun and glare in the direction of his voice.

"What? It's true."

"Are you really gonna do this, Tony? We're in hostile territory. We _need_ to work together."

"What did I say earlier? We are _not_ working together." His tone hardens. "You could snap at any moment and kill me like you killed my mom. So shut it, jackrabbit."

I growl under my breath and resume my defensive position. A few more steps, and something else pops into my head. "Tony, we need a system."

"What are you talking about?"

"A system. Do you know military slang? Vocabulary?"

"Hill's fluent military, so yeah."

"Good. Let's use that."

"Y'know, I really hate this whole _Barnes has more authority than Tony Stark_ vibe you're giving off."

Heat rockets in my chest. "Tony– !" I break off with a sigh. "I'm just trying to safely maneuver the situation."

"Barnes."

"Because if we can't take control _together_ , then there's no way we're getting this done."

"Hey, Barnes."

"No, Tony– ."

"Barnes, turn around!"

I swivel just in time to see a HYDRA agent before Tony sends a missile to end his life.

"Heads and eyes up, Barnes."

My heart speeds and I take a couple deep breaths to calm it down. "Roger that."

"Speaking of Rogers, let's go find our captain."

Silence hits us.

We approach the split and I press my back against the wall, peering down the left pathway.

No agents. A glimpse of a smaller room farther down.

Without a word of confirmation, I whirl around the corner and raise my gun. Nothing.

Two words lay crooked on the nearest door– _Room One._ A shiver breaks my contact on my firearm. I burst into the room.

Paperwork scatters at my feet and a single chair stands with a piece of rope hanging from the back. A set of drawers squeezes against the corner, dripping with cobwebs. Two wires snake from the bulb and disappear into a hole. I scoop the papers into my hands.

"Don't _touch_ it, jackrabbit! It could blow up in your face or something."

I ignore him and flip through the sheets. My metal arm gyrates. "Tony, these are…these are recruitment forms. From HYDRA."

 _Agent Number Twenty - Brock Rumlow._

 _Recruited: Nineteen-Forty-Two._

 _Specialty: Psychological And Physical Torture; Intimidation; Espionage._

 _Experiment Log: Longevity Serum, Nineteen-Forty-Five._

I toss the paper away and skim a few more.

 _Agent Number Fifty-One - Alexander Pierce._

 _Recruited: Nineteen Fifty-Nine._

 _Specialty: Manipulation; Asset Control; Espionage._

 _Experiment Log: None._

My eyebrows twitch at the following sheet.

 _Agent Number Three-Hundred-Six - William Lars._

 _Recruited: Nineteen-Eighty-Six._

 _Specialty: Interrogation; Persuasion; Mental Evaluation;_

 _Experiment Log: Enhanced Intelligence, Nineteen-Ninety-One._

I slip the stack into a rusty drawer that squeaks when opened and I'm about to withdraw when I see a familiar face on the sheet below it. I draw it from the cabinet and the old material cuts into my scarred fingers as my entire body runs cold at the name.

 _Agent Number Twenty-Five - James Barnes._

 _Recruited: Nineteen-Forty-Five._

 _Speciality: Blind Compliance; Brutality; Espionage._

 _Experiment Log: Super Soldier Replica Serum, Strength Enhancement, Metal Arm Surgery, Nine Alteration Surgeries, All Nineteen-Forty-Five. Project Compliance Serum, Nineteen-Fifty. Mental Torture Instillment Protocol, Nineteen-Fifty._

I swallow hard. Project Compliance, Mental Torture Protocol… What monster did they create in me? How many times in the lab did it take to grow the monstrosity that I've become?

My eyes flood with sudden tears as a memory replaces the present.

 _I snap my head up as Bruce and Steve enter my hospital room._

 _Steve approaches my bedside. "Good news, Buck. Ross is letting us go free. All of us."_

 _"'_ _All of us?' Just like that?"_

 _"_ _Well, it took some negotiating, especially with Stark, but after we all got out of the Raft, everyone's kinda gone their separate ways."_

 _"_ _Where is everyone now?"_

 _"_ _Tony's back at the compound. I finished sending a letter and a flip phone his way, so I hope that'll offer some closure. Nat chose to live at Headquarters, Rhodes is off to serve the military again after his legs heal up, Clint and Scott are back with their families, Vision and Wanda traveled to Scotland to settle down, and Sam's bought a place in Brooklyn." Steve leans against the bedpost. "And when this is all over, you can come live with me. I was able to afford a house in Brooklyn too. Like Sam said, there's no place like home."_

 _I turn my attention to Bruce. "How much longer in here? When can I go home? I know I'll need to lay low, but you really didn't have to drag me out to Headquarters for a checkup, of all things."_

 _Bruce shrugs. "Wanted to be sure. From all those years in Romania and your encounters with Zemo and the trigger words, I needed to be sure that you're stable for now. Stable enough to settle down."_

 _I grind my teeth. "I'll never be stable and you know it. I can barely remember anything good."_

A crash from behind turns me around.

Tony's form wavers by the door. "Calm down, Barnes. I just dropped the doorknob. It's pretty banged up in here."

I fold up my recruitment form and stuff it in my pocket. "We need to move on."

"You panicking on me?"

"No. Keep going."

"Fine, your call."

The tension falls upon us like shadows as we continue through the base. A right. Another right. More jail cells, more file rooms. A left. More corridors. More HYDRA agents. Narrow escapes and covers nearly blown.

We bust into a giant room onto a raised stone platform. The cavernous space is shaped upward like an upside-down funnel. Behind colored glass at the ceiling's pinnacle festers a feverish, blue light like a wild energy source. I stand, frozen, on the vibranium stage. Medical beds clutch the walls, numbering in the dozens. White sheets choke the old mattresses. White robes hang from rusty poles. White frost bites at the walls.

The feral energy from above pulses like a heartbeat.

 _This is…an experiment lab. Science lab, medical lab, something._

I grind my heels into the floor. Ice crackles under my feet. Scanning the walls, I catch sight of some tacked blueprints and creep over to them.

In huge letters:

- _Torture Under Sedation-_

The sheet is empty except for a few words on the bottom right corner.

 _Extraction Target: Romanoff._

I jerk away from the blueprints with a gasp that rattles my ribcage. "Tony, we've gotta get to them _now._ HYDRA's planning something."

Radio silence.

"Tony?" I pivot.

The door in the left corner rumbles with voices and Stark pelts into the lab, his stealth suit sputtering bits of flame. "Retro panels compromised– my cover's blown. Move!"

A wave of HYDRA agents pour into the room after him.

I reach the door in the right corner and rip it open. Plunging into shadows, I take off like a rocket and the ground blurs. Tony's repulsor blasts take care of the first swamp of assailants.

Pounding footsteps. Protests from the mob. More blasts and gunshots.

 _I've been wondering where all of the agents are. Now I'm not._

I whirl around and pull the trigger. Six men down.

"Jackrabbit, what are you _doing?_ "

"Taking a stand." I charge forward, blocking bullets with my metal arm, and plow into the group. One side topples like dominos. A gun's barrel breezes past my temple. I slap the weapon down and twist the man's arm. His muffled cry of pain is followed by a crunch in his shoulder. A punch to the gut brings him down and I ram him into the next swoop of agents. Dark locks swinging into my eyes, I send a few sidekicks toward the onslaught and crush an operative's wrist with silver fingers. His gun clatters at my feet and I scoop it into my arms.

Trigger.

Darts of light from the barrel splash blood onto the corridor.

The wall of men crumbles. All expect one.

The remaining agent zips forward.

I swerve around his strike and a blade whistles by my ear.

Fists fly around me and my focus targets on his continued punches:

Shoulder. Chest. Forehead.

Duck. Dodge. Block.

My turn.

I catch his arm mid-blow and wrench the knife from him.

His knee jabs my stomach and I stumble.

Twisting out of reach, I regain my balance.

A booted foot smashes into my temple.

I crumple against the wall, darkness spidering into my vision. Stars twinkle before me, so bright that I can make out constellations. A stronger flash from a distant corner of my mind eliminates the hostile. My pulse rages and liquid slides down the side of my face.

A name echoes from far away.

"Barnes?"

My hands find the ground and I drag myself to a sitting position, blinking the dizziness away.

"Barnes, you with me?"

Panting, I pull my attention to Stark's towering frame in front of me. "I'm fine. Don't-don't worry about me."

Tony nudges my leg. "I'm not worrying. Get up."

Pulling myself up, I grit my teeth. "Just… I-I need a minute."

"Fine."

I lean against the wall and assess the scene. Bloodied bodies lay motionless in a heap, clogging up the tunnel. "Thanks for taking out that last one."

"I need you in order to get through this stupid base anyways, so I can't have you dying on me."

"Why weren't you helping with the last bit?"

"I did."

"You only killed, like…six agents."

"Okay, then I killed six of them. You're welcome."

I frown.

Tony shrugs. "You did…" he inhales with a grimace, "pretty…good."

A smirk crackles on my cheeks. "Wow, that was agonizing to watch."

"What?"

"You. _Trying_ to compliment me."

Tony scoffs. "Yeah, well… At least you can still fight _without_ being Mr. Triggered Smoky Eyes."

I shake off my pain. "All right, I'm fine. Let's go."

"Oh, while you were being the hero, I went ahead. It's just a big circular room with nothing in it. Just a huge door across from the entrance."

"You find out what's in it?"

"I'm not about to open a random door and get attacked. This suit isn't as durable as my normal ones. It's just meant for stealth and bullets will cut through the retroreflective panels like paper. Lucky me."

I take the lead. "I thought you were a genius."

"Clearly."

We open into the room at the end of the hall.

 _Tony was right. It is just a big circle._

A round table stands in the middle with rickety chairs lining it.

 _Maybe a meeting room?_

Across from us is a massive, grey door fused into the wall. Ice like blue snakes trail around it.

Tony and I split up to explore, but the room lacks many of the interests I've found in other spaces. No papers. No cabinets. No blueprints. Not even any creepy messages or hints.

"Nothing. Just a boring table and some chairs." Tony strolls over to the door and knocks. A metallic ring vibrates on the other side. "Well, there's obviously something back there."

I cross my arms. "Like you said earlier, we don't know what it is."

"What, that means we shouldn't investigate? You're the one that wants to save them."

"So do you. That's why you're here."

Tony taps the frost crystallized on the door. "Not as much as you."

"Okay, _what is it_ with you and Steve?" I stomp into the cold ground. "He's tried so many times to make it right, and you can't accept anything he says. But when I got to Headquarters, you were so impatient about saving them that you barely gave me any time before you yanked me into the Quinjet and sat me in the pilot's seat. So what– ?"

Tony smashes his fist on the door.

The sound roars through the room and into the surrounding hallways.

"It's complicated."

"Un-complicate it."

He snaps his head toward me like a predator. "Rogers isn't the only one that needs to earn my trust back!"

Like the breaking of day, his message becomes clear. "Me." I suppress a shiver. "You're talking as if we were once allies– we hadn't even _met_ before the Civil War. You _never_ trusted me, but I wanted to! You're just using me for your own closure."

"No, it's– ."

"Stop. Why else would you bring me along? Why not others? You _knew_ I didn't have a lot of knowledge about the base's layout and yet you dragged me into this."

"Barnes," he turns back to his inspection of the door, "before the Civil War, I only ever knew you the way I heard Rogers describe you. For a while, I actually _wanted_ to meet you. As tense and crazy as my alliance was with Steve, I still respected our thin connection. I was curious as to what you were like." Tony sighs and a clench appears in his jaw. "But I was disappointed. You weren't what Rogers had hyped you up to be. Just a killer. A murderer. I've never gotten to see _Bucky Barnes._ I've only ever seen the Winter Soldier."

I avert my gaze to my feet. _Fine then. If he hates me so much, we can work separately._ I suck in a breath to present the option when I note movement at the entrance.

HYDRA agent. Gun raised. Trained on Stark.

 _"…_ _bullets will cut through the retroreflective panels like paper."_

I dive forward with Tony's name on my lips and shove him out of range.

Two shots fired.

I fumble with my pistol and send a bullet through his head.

Extraction complete.

The agent flops to the ground and I sway on my feet, my heartbeat pounding like dizzying drums.

I face Tony only to be greeted by a pale stare. "What?"

His wide eyes flicker to my abdomen. "What did you just _do?_ "

Quivering, I drop my chin.

It's only when I see the blood pumping from my stomach does pain replace the pressure. And by then, I'm already falling.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

WELL THAT'S BUCKY BARNES RIGHT THERE TONY

xD

Lots revealed in this chapter!

Read and review!


	52. Chapter Fifty-One - Static Danger

Yay, I'm back! New chapter!

It'll take a while to learn what I'm doing to Natasha. And what I _will_ do... mwahahahahaaaa!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-One - Static Danger

I fiddle with my watch and adjust the position of my glasses. "All right, Clint. Try and talk."

The archer perches on the edge of his medical bed and gives me a hesitant look. He swallows with a grimace and lifts a shaking hand to his neck, running his fingers over his bruises.

"It's okay. Just once. To test your recovery. It doesn't matter, say anything."

"Anything." The response that croaks from my patient's mouth exits like a raspy, breaking death wish followed immediately by a grunt of pain.

I can't avoid the wince that crosses my face as I examine Clint's. "Ouch. That sounded painful."

Clint nods, scowling.

"You'll probably need more tea. I'll ask Sam to make you some." I cross my arms and gaze out the window. "It's getting late. I'll check on Peter, then retire for the night. Thanks for your cooperation, Clint." I stroll through the door, but stop in the entryway as Natasha's voice echoes back to me.

 _"_ _I'm all for second chances."_

I shut the door behind me and rub my face with a sweaty hand. _Gosh, Nat, where are you? Please come home…_

Peter's checkup is through within ten minutes and by then, I'm already hanging up my robe on my bedpost. Shower done, teeth brushed, glasses cleaned. The reading light illuminates my fatigued features in the mirror. Dark circles in the orange light. Jagged nails, bitten to stubs in the recent stress. Tousled curls tinged with grey and still wet from the shower. Shadowed, brown eyes. Until turned green. Yeah, when's that gonna happen next? Is it going to cost me another friendship? Or worse…could I lose Natasha yet again to the other guy?

I flop onto the bed and the mattress squeaks under me.

When the noise doesn't stop, I lift my head from the blankets. My watch beeps from my desk, its miniature screen blinking warning colors.

Red light.

Off.

Red light.

Off.

Tony Stark.

Off.

Urgent call.

Off.

 _That's not the mattress._

I leap to my bare feet and answer it.

Static explodes into the room and Tony gasps through the receiver. "Bruce, you there?"

"Yeah, what– ?"

"It's Barnes! GSW, two shots fired!"

My heart rate accelerates sevenfold. "What?"

"Quick, Banner, what do I do?"

"Okay, uh…" I grab fistfuls of hair and boot up my computer. "Details? Slug, rifling, ballistics…"

"I don't know."

"Where?"

"Both to the stomach."

"Bleeding?"

"Excessive."

"Is he conscious?"

"Barely."

I grind my teeth. "All right, where are you?"

"Big storage room."

"Hostiles?"

"Negative."

"Okay, lay him down if you can."

The watch vibrates with a shift of movement.

Barnes gasps in pain.

"Bruce, done. Next?"

I breeze through GSW files on my screen, my mind whirling.

" _BRUCE,_ he's bleeding out! What do I do?"

I snap to attention. "That fast?"

" _I told you it was fast!_ "

"Okay, cauterize it! It's the only way to – !"

"On it!"

Straps of gear and fabric rip off and Tony wheezes over the on-switch of a flame. "Engaging in three…two…one…"

I flinch as Bucky starts screaming, the breaks and cutouts of the comms making his pain all the more unbearable. The searing noise of flame on flesh shudders over the communication. After an eternity, Bucky's groaning subsides into heavy panting and the torch clicks off.

"What now?"

"Has the bleeding stopped?"

"Yeah."

"Pulse?"

Silence. "Fast. Too fast."

"What materials do you have?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you have any gauze? Bandages, ointment…?"

"I'll check this glorified closet."

"Got it. I'll be right here."

"You're in my suit– you're not going anywhere."

I clear my throat. "Right."

Time passes.

Tony returns to the line. "Okay, Banner, I found some bandages and rags. And some sort of…ointment…thing."

"Perfect. Make sure to clean the wound _and yourself_ of his blood before you proceed. Once you've done that, check for any more bleeding and apply pressure until that said bleeding stops. Then rub the ointment on after confirming it clear and bandage it. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Okay." I slump into my swivel chair. "You okay? You still sound out of breath."

"Don't know why that is, Banner. Oh, I don't know, maybe it's because this murdering _idiot_ just nearly killed himself for me!"

My eyebrows draw together and I lean in toward the watch. "Wait, what did he do?"

"Yeah, you heard me. Jackrabbit here took two bullets for me because he's just _that much_ of a hero. He's gonna get such an earful when he– ."

"Tony."

"No, Bruce. Listen to me. He shouldn't have– ."

"Tony, listen!"

"What?"

"Stop trying to blame him for this."

"It was his fault. I didn't ask for him to save me! It makes me look weak."

"Have you considered that he might not have been doing it to seem like a hero?"

A pause.

"What, Barnes? He's Captain America's friend– of course he'd do something like that."

"Tony…that could've been his way of trying to make it up to you. You don't accept apologies, so maybe Barnes leaned toward the only other action he could think of that could even _begin_ to apologize for your parents' deaths. Sacrifice."

A few seconds pass.

Tony cuts the communication line.

* * *

Tony's voice rouses me from a deep slumber, but pain quickly rises to dominance and drowns out his speech.

The darkness of closed eyes offers no relief from the fire shooting through my stomach, so I peel my eyelids apart. The burst of white is worse and therefore, the burning overtakes my sight as well as my abdomen.

Swallowing a groan, I channel into my surroundings.

The immediate response is my position. Unsteady. Unbalanced. Feeling like I'm going to fall backward at any moment.

 _Where am I, anyway?_

An icy chill like opening a door to a bitter winter night rushes over me and an air vent whirs from somewhere nearby. The sounds muffle to my right and I drag my limp hand in that direction. My skin runs cold as I hit a wall. I flip my flesh hand over and rub the floor. Smooth, like river-worn stones, yet accented by generations of bootprints. Tiny clusters of frost offer speed bumps between by fingers as I run my touch over the ground. Pulling my arm back to my side, I discover my bearings at last.

Turns out, I'm not standing. Or sitting, for that matter.

I'm lying flat on the frozen rock.

The pain returns with vicious attack and even the very act of breathing prompts a grimace.

Finally, I flutter open my eyes. A pale, blue ceiling greets me and emits a soft light from above. Shelves loom on the edges of my vision. I lift my head off the ground, which turns out to be equivalent to lifting an anvil. This action draws a raspy moan from me and Tony's suit whirs from nearby.

"Finally. Took you long enough."

I twist my neck to the left and spot Tony leaning against the wall across from my limp body.

"I had plenty of time to do crossword puzzles in my head, thanks to you."

Blinking hard, I focus him in my blurry vision.

 _HYDRA base. Agent Lars. Fighting._

"What happened?"

"Well, maybe you wanna tell me why you took two bullets to the stomach for me."

A fiery jolt runs through me. _HYDRA agent. Gun aimed at Stark._

"Yeah, that's right. That's what hurts."

"Are-are you okay?"

Tony scoffs. "Really? That's the first question that you ask?"

"Second question, actually."

"Yeah, doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is the fact that we're locked in here."

My eyes widen. "Wait, what?"

"Yep. The door won't open. I'd designed a device that's supposed to dissolve rock a few years back, but I don't know how long it'll take to melt vibranium. So, my best guess is that we're sticking around for a little while longer."

"And where's… 'here?'"

"It's like a storage room. The good thing is we have food here."

"How'd you get the door open? It was…frozen. Right?"

Tony lugs himself to his feet. "Yeah, I kinda busted it open while you were bleeding out two feet away from me. Then I dragged you in here, called Bruce, and got you patched up. Bruce was panicking and– ."

"You mean you were panicking."

"Uh– ." Tony gives me a sour look. "No. That's not what I said, I– ."

"That's what you meant. You need me alive, Tony." I haul myself to my elbows and a hot claw of pain rips through my stomach. With a cry, I slump to the ground, gasping.

"Oh, son of a jackrabbit– what did you do this time?" Tony appears in front of me and drops to his knees. The cold hits my bare skin. "Nice job, you tore your wound open."

I blink sweat from my eyes. "Tell me the truth, Tony. Were you worried?"

No response but a tighter tug on my bandages.

Craning my neck down, I catch a glimpse of his pale face as he presses gauze against my wound. His attention darts around my injury and his throat constricts. "You _were_ worried. And you _are_ worried."

"Stop it. You mean nothing to me."

"That doesn't hurt as much as my bullet wound because I know you're lying."

"Yeah?" Tony crushes the bandage against my wound and a yelp escapes gritted teeth. "Try me."

I fall silent as Stark bandages my wound and folds my gear over the injury.

"There. If you don't move, then you should be fine." He rises to his feet and stomps to the other side of the room. "I'm gonna sleep and hope that you don't follow me into my nightmares."

My ears prick. "Wait, I turn up in your nightmares?"

"Yeah. Well– it's not actually you. It is you, but it's mainly my parents dying. You're not what I'm afraid of."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

Tony clenches his jaw. "I don't talk about that."

"Y'know what, I tried that. Didn't work."

"Tried what?"

"Keeping my feelings bottled. Locked up. Sometimes, I'd have them buried for years. I always forget how much relief I feel when I finally tell Steve."

"And that's the _only_ person you tell? Wow, what a statement."

"No, Tony. Just…someone I trust."

"This is about me, right? You're doing an amazing job putting yourself in that 'trust' category."

I stare at him for a few moments and watch as he fidgets in the corner. "Do you truly think so little of me?"

"Gee, I wonder why."

"I don't suppose you know why I pushed you out of range?"

Tony tenses up. "Bruce offered a quick suggestion."

Neither of us speaks for a few long seconds.

The cold whistles through the storage room. The sapphire light thrums. My bandages rub against my raw skin.

I take a deep breath. "I don't often get the chance to apologize for the assassinations. I'm always on the run. From HYDRA. From the government. From myself. I'll never get to make up for the lives I destroyed, the families I ripped apart, and the funerals I planned. There are so many graves planted in my name that…I can never correct them or make up for most." I flex my metal fingers. "But you…with Howard and Maria…I've had the chance. For a long time."

Tony's white features almost blend in to the ice behind him.

"Ever since the Civil War, when you found out, I…I'll never be able to get your eyes out of my head. The way you looked at me with such _hatred_ and a hunger to _kill_. To avenge them. And I get it. I do. I deserve to be punished."

I cringe, expecting some snide remark from Tony. But it doesn't come. Nothing does. The courage of silence continues my story.

"For a few months now, I've trying to think of ways that I could make it up to you. Howard and Maria were my friends too and my nightmares are full of them. Of course, I don't think anything could fully excuse what I did to you, but you've hated me for so long that…I wanted to do something. I wanted to try, in any way possible, to change your opinion of me. You assume that I live in pride of that memory, or the blood on my hands. You assume that I don't regret it and walk through my days without shadows. But let me clear that up." I lock gazes with him. "Shadows thrive in me. So often is one around me that I've compared it to an abusive relationship. My shadow bride. Maybe even the high school girl I never got to date back in 'forty-four, Dolores. The relationship between me and my memories is something that Steve has helped me work out. It's not gone because it's part of me. But that hatred, Tony, that you feel toward me? That's _not_ part of you. If I can change that in any capacity, then I'll take that chance.

"You don't take verbal apologies, so I started thinking about what else I could do. Something beyond words. Then it clicked. What did Steve do to earn the adulation of the world? Sacrifice. And I'm not trying to earn adulation from you, or even at all. I'm just…trying to lessen the fire in your eyes." I twist my head toward him once again. "So yes, I _did_ take two bullets to the stomach for you, but it's the least I can to make up for the scars I put in your life. This pain…" Shifting my position, I grit my teeth against the flash of heat in my abdomen. "This pain is nothing."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Yay! Hopefully Tony and Bucky bond more. :D

Read and review!


	53. Chapter Fifty-Two - Bodies Will Crumble

Yay, I'M ALIVE! It's been a while! School is hard :( lol but I'm glad I found the time to write this chapter!

So...this chapter is an interesting one! We get some brother bickering, some emotional counseling by the two specific brothers, Scott being...well... _Scott_ , and Nick being ticked off! Woo-hoo!

The name of this chapter came from a quote by Thor from Infinity War. Maybe, if you know what that quote is, then maybe you could get a hint into what may be mentioned in this chapter...

ALSO, I have some Agents of SHIELD fanfiction in the planning process right now! If you're interested, follow my account and I'll try to get a chapter up of one of them soon. I have three in process currently: _Copy That_ (season 3) _, The Absolute Worst_ (season 6) _,_ and _Before We Broke_ (season 1) _._

Taking a break from Tony and Bucky for a little while and turning it over to my favorite archer.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Two - Bodies Will Crumble

My voice test with Bruce finishes just as Jarvis announces a requested meeting with Nick Fury. I exchange a glance with the doctor.

He scrunches his eyebrows. "I didn't think he'd come. Work on the new Triskelion's been keeping him away."

I rasp out an answer. "Then it must be important. Rhodey?"

"He's here tomorrow. Mission's over, so no point staying away. The government assigned him an R&R, but…he didn't take it. Decided to come here instead. If only Tony could've been here to greet him…"

"Speaking of Tony…" I point a finger downward. "Nick?"

"Right. Meeting. Let's go."

When we join the gathered Avengers in a cozy room stacked with couches and chairs, Nick greets us both with a nod. "Nice to see you up and about, Agent Barton. How's the voice?"

I lend him a quick smirk. "Rusty."

The stone-cold SHIELD director cracks a smile– a rare occurrence on his usually labor-worn face. "Let's just grab some oil, Barton, and shove it down there. That'll fix you right up."

I roll my eyes and take a seat in the middle of Bruce and Wanda, scanning the team. Thor, Loki, Vision, Sam, Peter… _Where's…?_

"S-sorry!" Scott stumbles into the room with a plate of eggs. "Breakfast took a little bit longer than intended. I was FaceTiming Cassie too, so I couldn't– ."

"We understand, Mr. Lang." Nick cocks his eyebrow like a trigger, aiming a fiery look of judgment. "Truly."

Scott swallows hard and shoves a piece of scrambled eggs into his mouth. "Wow, you don't need to– ."

"I was going to choose you for the mission, but…" he tips his chin toward Scott's flushed expression, "guess I shouldn't. You're too naive for that kind of combat."

Scott raises his eyebrows. "Are you kidding?"

"You'll stay here to guard the compound."

"O…kay?"

Peter raises a hand. "Wait, the-the mission? What mission?"

"I suppose most of you haven't heard of the extraction team going to retrieve Stark and Barnes once they've found our soldiers."

I perk up and force my voice past the pain. "When? Who's going?"

"That's what I've decided on today. Hopefully, we'll be arriving with few and leaving with many– the missing parts of the team. I've tasked each member of the extraction party with an individual to help escape. Once Colonel Rhodes gets here tomorrow, he'll be placed on the team to be the one to aid Stark in escaping along with Peter."

The teenager freezes. "Me? But– ."

"You have a personal connection with Stark, so you're helping in his rescue. You're needed."

"Yeah, but, my aunt– ."

"Forget about your aunt, Parker! Angry guardians are none of your business. Right now, the _Avengers_ are your business. Do you understand?"

"Mr. Stark would– ."

"I need you on this mission, Spiderman; do you understand?"

Peter deflates. "Y-Yes, Mr. Fury."

"Thank you. That's all I needed to hear. Wilson, you'll be coming with us as well, jetpack fully functional and guns loaded to help with the breach and escape of the entire party. Now, Scott…"

Scott lifts his head. "Yeah?"

"I'm gonna need to switch you out with someone… Barton! You're on the team."

A spark flares up my spine. _Finally! This way, I can be of use._ Instead of verbal confirmation, I merely dip my head.

Bruce whips his attention from Nick, to me, then back with his mouth hanging open. "Fury, with all due respect, you _cannot_ take Clint out of my care to go on this extraction mission."

"Banner– ."

"He's a recuperating agent, and I have all the right to pull him out of active duty to heal. As my patient, he– ."

"Banner!" Nick rises up like a black hawk in the ascending sunlight. "Stand. Down."

I adjust my position and clear my throat with a suppressed grimace. "Okay. What's the plan?"

Fury starts pacing. "When Barnes and Stark contact us and give us the dispatch signal, we'll gather the team as fast as possible and ride to get them out. But, as we've learned, the HYDRA base is entirely vibranium. No weapon of ours can cut through that, so we need something that can. Something to help us get in and out fast."

Vision leans forward, a hand on his chin. "And…that would be?"

"It doesn't exist. Yet. I happen to know where to get one made. Thor? Loki? This is your mission. You'll be leaving within the hour."

Loki snickers. "Oh, _glorious._ What a prosperous outcome." He drawls out the adjectives with eager elation.

Thor growls under his breath. "And where would that be, Fury?"

"The same place where your nifty hammer was made."

Loki twitches and Thor's eyes widen. They speak the name in unison with equal confusion:

"Nidavellir?"

* * *

After bidding farewell to my homeland once more, I grip the helm of the Asgardian ship as the stars fly past Loki and I. The glass flashes as planets zip by. Constellations reign in strips of rainbow brilliance around us and the darkness in-between the suns blinks with possibility. Kaleidoscopes of celestial bodies flicker and stretch wide across the ribbons of the Bifrost. A giant smile breaks my stiff composure at the beauty around me. "Ah, I'd forgotten how beautiful space was."

Loki scoffs from his seat at the back of the ship. "Brother… You'll never understand how much better it looks from the throne."

My rough accent comes through. "At least I had the courage to walk away, Loki. Every day on that throne, in that city… I'd never bear it."

"Oh, really?" Fabric shifts and footsteps approach. Loki appears at my side. "You didn't always believe that."

"At that time, I didn't yet know the things only Earth could teach me."

"And…that woman? Jane Foster? Don't tell me you want to spend all of your life with her?"

I peer over my shoulder at him. "You know, it's been a while, Loki. Before I found out what you were hiding, the last I'd seen you, it was death taking hold. You died in Svartalfheim. In my arms."

"My, is that really softness I feel in your statement, brother? Who have you become to kneel to such sentiment?"

I whirl around and grind my teeth. "I can't believe you're alive! I saw you die. I _mourned_ you, I cried for you."

Loki fidgets. "I'm…honored."

"Why did you do it?"

"What?"

"Fake your death. Twice now. _Twice,_ Loki! Why? Do you find the utmost pleasure in playing us like game pieces?" I shake my head as heat boils under my skin. "We were so close, brother. _So_ close. What tore that away?" As veins bulge in my neck, pulsing with feverish blood, memories rip through my mind. Of empty words. Of broken wishes. Of trust shattering like two-thousand glass hearts. "What we had was special, Loki. What snake-like curse found you?"

A wicked laugh slithers from his throat. "You think you know of the shadows that sleep with me, of the burdens that sit on my boney chest, but, oh, are you mistaken, brother."

"Oh, really? Then what's different? What changed?"

Loki seizes my armored shoulder. "Everything changed! As we grew, so did your ego. You think that you've always been prosperous and held the world's needs in your hands, but, in truth, you were hardly any better than father!"

I tear out of his grip. "Odin was kind, brother. A great father to raise us. I wouldn't have chosen anyone else to– ."

Loki snarls. "Well, that makes one of us! I'm glad _someone_ loved him!"

"You loved him as much as I did!"

"You're getting it all mixed up, brother. You ask why I grew so cold, so dark…" Loki advances with an icy stare, lowering his voice to an octave so deep that it could spring frost. "It's no wonder I turned when I saw all along that Odin only ever cared about _you–_ his perfect warrior son. His true son."

My nose flares as I struggle to keep my temper at bay. "Don't you talk like that, brother. Odin loved you. We all did. He never wished pain on you."

Loki snaps his head around. "It's laughable that you believe so highly of Odin. Of _your_ father. Not mine. You tell me he never wanted to cause me pain, but was that true when he ignored me during training sessions? Denied me certain honors, and instead, granted them to you? Father practically bowed at your feet every time you dueled with Sif, for you were always perfect. Whenever I stepped into that ring, I felt his judgmental eyes on me. Waiting for me to fail. And I, in turn, expected disappointment. I knew it would come. And it always did." Loki's entire body trembles with the strength of a volcano and his face reddens.

I pound my fist onto the control desk. "He wished you the best, Loki! Always!"

"Oh, did he, now? That never changed anything when he passed me in the hallways without even a nod. That happened on the day of your coronation. He was deep in conversation with Lady Sif. I greeted him, but they strode past me with nothing. And as they walked, I heard one word: _Thor._ Spoken with such…love. He was always talking about you, always giving you the glory, the gold, the jewels, the crown, the _hammer._ Pointing out my mistakes and excusing yours." Loki's expression falls. "So, brother…would you still like to know why I went down to Earth?"

Words don't come.

"Despite the fact that the Infinity Stone was eating through my mind, I realized…whatever you did to earn father's approval was almost always something related to fighting. To…showing superiority. I decided to change myself to change Odin. To make him _love_ me. And it never worked."

"Loki…" I reach for his forearm, only for it to be pulled away.

"You'll never understand." His voice retreats further downward. "The only one that ever did was Frigga."

The heat in my body skitters back slightly when I catch a break in his sentence. I turn the ship to autopilot as it continues to coast through space.

Loki returns to his seat with his teeth mashed together so tightly that the clench cuts through his cheeks like knives.

"I'm sorry, Loki."

His chapped lips draw together like a knitted braid of yarn, locked together with such stillness that a vague idea enters my mind of whether he'd heard my apology in the first place. Regardless of all the fire built up from my earlier outburst, I clomp forward on heavy boots and sit beside him. So close am I that my eyes spot a drop of blood clinging to his bottom lip.

Flashbacks.

Even as a child, he'd always forget small tasks, like keeping his mouth from growing dry in the colder months. And these past few years… How many times had he burst and bled at the lips just to achieve his chiseled intimidation by way of cruel words and smooth sneers? How many jeers had it taken before he'd needed to reverse the habit from his childhood?

"Loki…? Can we start over?"

His pupils dilate and his fixed gaze darts around.

Movement. At least it's progress, even if from a statue.

Finally, after lightyears of silence, Loki inhales. "Your time with that woman has influenced you. Not often are you capable of such brutal swings in your emotions, brother. One minute, scalding, the next…"

"Understanding."

"No." The single word exits like a death wish. "I'll say it again– you'll never understand. Never." He angles his face toward me and the rainbow colors of the Bifrost glint off of the blue storms in his eyes. "You don't know what it's like to feel that you amount to nothing, Thor. I have a very…distinct memory of a dinner one night: Frigga was off testing Sif's swordplay, and you were with them. Watching, I believe. It must've been an incredible show, for when you came to fetch Odin to join the audience, so wrapped in the excitement were you that you didn't even bother to look my way and invite me as well. Odin rose and departed with naught a word to me. I remember the eagerness in his face as he left with you. And the– dare I say it– relief in seeing you. I also recall with a vivid fire staring at the pure golden goblet that held Asgard's finest wine and…knowing that…at least to Odin, the gold was worth more than me."

"Loki, that's– ."

The ship jolts to a stop and the stars fade back into the present motion.

Loki pushes himself upright and brushes away the blood from his chin. "No matter. We're here, aren't we?" He blinks twice and the storms clear from his vision, leaving the God of Mischief's normal expression. But the pain still remains underneath. Loki makes a move toward the control desk.

I dart forward and catch his wrist. "Please, brother."

"Thor, _stop._ " The icy snake returns to his words. He doesn't turn or make a move to free my grasp.

"No, Loki. We must talk about this before we approach Eitri. Together."

His hair quivers and the space-light turns every raven-strand to silver threads. The rippling color clashes with the shadows in his eyes when, at last, he faces me. "There's nothing to say, brother. You can't take anything back. But…I do think that it's my turn to ask a question." He pauses. "Do you truly think so little of me?"

I step closer. "Loki, I thought the world of you."

Loki's jaw loosens. "What?"

"I thought we were going to fight side-by-side forever. But, at the end of the day, you're you and I'm me." I withdraw from my brother's privacy and fix my belt. "I don't know, maybe there's still good in you, but let's be honest, our paths diverged a long time ago." I stalk toward the control desk and direct the ship toward Nidavellir. "I hope we can come to terms with our emotions when all this is over…"

The metal rings surrounding Nidavellir freeze as we approach the forge.

"Yeah…"

My ears twitch as Loki begins to speak.

"It's probably for the best that we never see each other again."

A pang strikes my heart and a slight hesitation snags my muscles mid-movement.

Despite Nidavellir's unflinching, cosmic glory harnessing the power and light of fifty suns, it couldn't be darker within our ship.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Awww, yaaayyy! Bonding!

If I didn't change the MCU, Thor: Ragnarok would be happening around this area of the timeline, so I thought it only fitting that Thor and Loki still bond.

Read and review!


	54. Chapter Fifty-Three - Stage Play

I breezed through this chapter! It was a fun, slightly painful one to write...

Not much to say on this chapter. Just another, powerful conversation between Sam and Clint. :D

Enjoy!

OH WAIT NO

Gotta respond to reviews...

 **Amethyst Goldenwind:** "If only it were so easy?" MWAHAHAHAAA! You have no idea... (jk you might actually)

 **Guest:** Loki does need a hug! I feel like Clint will need a hug too after this chapter... :)

Okay, NOW enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Three - Stage Play

The midday sun breaks through the window's haze and sparkles on the air like hay particles, tugging my heartstrings as dart after dart thuds into the board. Crosslegged on my bed, I close one eye and spike the dart forward.

 _Thunk._

Another fruitless shot. Like every one before it.

I flop backward and examine the patterns on my ceiling.

 _They look just like our bedroom's ceiling. Laura and I…_

The warm breeze tickles my farm-style bedhead. I run my tongue over my dry lips as I picture hers. Smiling. Laughing. Never again will her hands brush my cheeks to loosen my tense jaw. Never again will her fingertips trace my mouth during cold dates on the porch. Wine won't taste without her.

And Nathaniel…

He was just beginning to take an interest in archery like his siblings before him. Glitter was catching his eye, similar to Lila's eager artistry.

I twist my head toward the family photo on my dresser.

"How I would've loved to watch you all grow…"

It only takes a few seconds for me to well up. Rather than let the swamp settle, I propel myself off the bed and through the door. Lunch calls, after all, and I don't need Mr. Wings to deliver it to me anymore.

I'm healing.

Or at least, that's what I want to believe.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I stroll to the kitchen.

Sam lowers his book at the table and nods to me. "Good to see you up, Clint. What were you doing up there?"

I shrug. "Target practice." Rasp dangles from my words as my recuperating throat constricts.

"Any bullseyes?"

I grab some bread and peanut butter from nearby and shake my head. "Nothing."

"I'm glad you're here, actually. I wanted to ask you something."

My hands freeze. _Oh-no._

"It's something that I used to talk about a lot in my PTSD group."

My jaws clench. _Oh-no, oh-no._

"Have you ever heard of the Five Stages of Grief?"

My heart rages in my ribcage and sends waves of heat through my body. I set the knife down and lean against the counter, breathing long and deep.

"They're a set of framework stages of the process of grief. It helps someone in putting a name and identification to what they might be feeling during trauma like what you've gone through."

 _"_ _Like what you've gone through."_

 _Like what I've gone through._

The words echo in my head over and over again. Slowly, silently, I slip into a locked memory from my wounded past.

 _"_ _Clinton, you can't keep this up!"_

 _I smash the knife on the table. "You don't own me, Charles!"_

 _"_ _I'm your brother. I have a right to– ."_

 _"_ _To what?" I stomp forward and yank him toward me. "To counsel me like some savior? I'll have you know that I'm not sad. I'm not." I excuse my brother's hanging mouth and continue. "Because y'know why? She loved you. She hated me."_

 _Charles rips his arm from my grip. "Now, that's not fair. Mom tried to stop Dad from beating you."_

 _"_ _Wow, Charles, that worked_ real _well for me, didn't it?"_

 _"_ _She– ."_

 _I seize his collar."DIDN'T IT? But that didn't change how badly the belt hurt. It didn't change how warm the blood felt, dripping down my back. It didn't change the nights I hurt so much I cried myself to sleep and it didn't change the bruises that never healed. And y'know why Dad beat me?"_

 _Charles trembles and tears streak his red cheeks. "He beat me too, Clinton."_

 _"_ _But only when you didn't obey. Dad beat me because I_ existed. _Y'know how that felt? You were the perfect, little son that he wanted, right? But when they had me? And saw how much of a weakling I was? No doubt, Dad thought, 'let's beat him into shape.' Literally. I didn't delight in farm work and wasn't into cross country. I didn't like running or pushing tractors around. I loved archery. And journaling. And reading. And how_ dare _I in this household?"_

 _Charles glares daggers. "Shut up, Clinton. Don't put this on me."_

 _"_ _I'm just stating the_ facts, _Charles. Our mom simply being our mom didn't stop all the pain I suffered. It doesn't matter if Mom wasn't as bad as your father. She still could've done so much more."_

 _Charles bites his lip. "But you_ loved _her. That's why you're getting so worked up about this. The only way to survive this grief is to…learn. You've heard of the Five Stages of Grief, right?"_

 _Every breath seethes from gritted teeth. "Shut up, Charles. I don't need your help."_

 _"_ _But that formula has helped me. Really. And you're still unhinged. Sooner or later, you're gonna break. Heal. Obey. Then the pain will retreat."_

 _I pull away from him, flexing my right hand. "You keep believing that fantasy. Sooner or later you'll– ."_

"Clint?"

I wrench myself out of the memory.

Sam stands across from me, scrutinizing my face. "You all right, man?"

"I-I have heard of those. A long time ago."

The veteran frowns. "So you know of the process?"

I nod.

Sam pressures the topic with scrunched eyebrows. "Then…why are you so pale?"

My inhale cuts into the back of my throat. "My brother tried to pressure me into it when my mother died. I was sixteen."

Sam watches me, dazed for a moment, before his expression falls and he stiffens. "I'm sorry, man. It must've been hard."

I drum my pointer finger on the counter. "The best part of my life was when I ran away. Escaped. Won an archery competition to get the money I needed to support myself."

Sam crosses his arms. "How were things from then on out?"

"Some jealous thugs from the competition beat me senseless in an alley to steal the money."

Sam averts his gaze. "Man, you never saw the end of it… How'd you get the money back?"

"I didn't." By now, I'm lost in my past, the memories awake like a living dream. Tears sting in my eyes. "The runner-up from the competition, a rebellious girl who'd disobeyed her parents and ran off to compete, saved me. She found me unconscious in that alley and…brought me to her house. Her parents became my own."

Sam squints at me. "And…who was this girl?"

"Her name was Laura."

Silence.

"So, yes." I turn to him. "I _have_ heard of the Five Stages of Grief, but I hate it. So there."

Sam gestures to the seats. "Come on, Clint. Let's sit down. Maybe I can change your mind. What do you not like about it?"

"It's a finish line! Another mission to complete. It puts stressful pressure on me and I don't want anybody telling me how to grieve."

Sam places a hand on my shoulder. "Clint, it's not a race, it's a tool! A monitor. Everyone progresses it differently. Some people skip stages or get stuck in one."

I glare at him. "So I'm the depressed Avenger now?"

"Stop. You're just like everyone else with wounds."

"Well, they haven't healed yet."

"And that's what the acceptance stage is for. You're _so close_ , Clint– ."

I slam my fist on the counter. "I'm not gonna be forced into this, Sam! Not again! I want time, and solitude, and– ." I stop short. "And Laura." A sigh escapes me. "Sam, try all you like, but you're never going to convince me that my family being blown up was okay."

Sam's eyes soften like warm chocolate-chip cookies. "Let me show you something." He reaches for a napkin and scribbles two separate sentences on it. "Which of these two sentences define the acceptance stage?" When he flips the napkin around, the penned words grow clear.

 _It's okay that Riley died._

 _Riley died, and I am now okay._

Tears flood Sam's figure.

Sam grins. "The second one, obviously. Acceptance is a stage filled with hope. Love for what you lost. Gratefulness at having knew them. And it's when you break free of the chrysalis that grief puts you in." Sam pats my shoulder. "You've had a rough couple months, Clint. You lost your _entire_ family in one night. No sane person can just…shrug that off. It takes, like you said, time. It takes readjustment."

I swipe a tear from my cheek. "How did you…get there? Reach acceptance?"

Sam smiles. "It took…about a year. I don't remember much of it, really. I shut everyone out. I shut myself off, like pulling a plug or flicking the 'off' switch. Went on mission after mission after mission, flying for long after I should have. I exhibited severe avoidance. Eventually, I learned to face it, to face life without him. And now? Sometimes I'll be eating lunch and I'll catch myself thinking, 'Come to think of it, I haven't seen Riley in a while.'" Sam chuckles. "I forget he's gone."

I purse my lips. "Sam, I'm-I'm really sorry. For Riley, for blowing up on you earlier. I really shouldn't have– ."

"Hey, calm down, man. It's fine. And…thanks for trusting me with your past. It can't have been easy."

"Yeah, well…" I raise my head, a smirk touching my expression, "life never is."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** MAN... Clint's had it rough.

For a while now, I've been brainstorming for a book about my take on Clint's past and his upbringing and his early life. I'm not running off of the comics, even though I do know a few minor things from his comic-book-life (circus, Mockingbird, abuse, Marcus, that's it). The only things that will play parts in my adaptation of Clint's past that are from his comic-book-life will probably be his parent's abuse and his near-death experience with Marcus Scarlotti (WHO'S BEEN IN AGENTS OF SHIELD WOOOWWWW).

I've mainly tried to garner all the information and history I can out of his **_MCU canon_** past, and that's it. It's shocking how little info I have! But that's also exciting, because that means I can shape his history how I want. So everything that Clint says about his past in this chapter is all from my head. IDK if any of it is unintentionally comic-book or MCU canon and matches up with it, but I didn't refer to or reference anything to come up with what Clint states in this chapter. I'm also excited to dive into how exactly he met Laura in that fanfiction... :D

Read and review!


	55. Chapter Fifty-Four - Only Further Away

I'M ALIVE, Y'ALL!

THe past couple months have been CRAZY! I took a pause from Bleeding in Slow Motion. :D

But I'm back and the finale is still creeping up :)

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Four - Only Further Away

"All right, Barnes, hold still."

I groan as his metal fingers press a chunk of gauze into my side. "That's a bit difficult when you're– ,"

 _Poke._

I crush my tongue between my jaws at the pain. Sweat gleams on my brow and the following question comes in shallow bursts of air. "Do you even know how to clean a wound?"

"Bruce has shown me. Shut up and let me work."

"I've got an idea." I shift my position.

"Hey– sit still!"

"Try the laser thing at the door. Maybe that will get us out."

"I tried that. I tried everything on my suit. We just need to wait until the device melts the vibranium."

I grit my teeth. My body floods with heat despite the cold as a memory pops up.

 _"_ _I don't think we can escape this, Steve."_

 _"_ _We will. We have to. I'll find some way to– ."_

 _"_ Steve! _" I take a breath. "Winter's almost here, Steve. And Rumlow's ready to greet the cold."_

I had escaped. Steve and Natasha hadn't.

 _-Torture Under Sedation-_

 _Extraction Target: Romanoff._

I shiver. "Hey, Tony."

"Eh?" Stark prods at my gunshot wound with a roll of gauze between his teeth.

"What do you think HYDRA's plan is?"

Tony finishes with my bandages and withdraws. "I dunno. They're being pretty weird."

"Lars knew we were here from the moment we stepped off that Quinjet and then told Rumlow. You'd think he would jump at the chance to take me and turn me."

"But he hasn't."

"Right. And Lars watched us escape. He _knew_ we came to save Steve and Natasha. No one's paying us any mind. We're criminals in HYDRA, but it's like…they want us here."

"I'm gettin' your drift, too." Tony taps his chin. "I'm gonna make contact with HQ. Maybe they have some answers."

A couple beeps fill the silence and a hologram of Wanda blinks into existence. "It's nice to see you alive, Stark. Have you found them yet?"

"Still stuck in the storage room."

The witch frowns. "Any luck with that?"

"Nope."

Vision materializes beside Wanda. "Director Fury would like to know if we should approach for aid."

Tony shakes his head. "No, not yet. I'll contact him when we find them."

"Director Fury is working at the new Triskelion, so he may not be able to answer your calls at the present moment."

While the question-and-answer interview goes on, I move into a more comfortable position against the wall and suppress my pain with long, controlled breaths.

"Mr. Stark, I believe there's something you and Mr. Barnes should be aware of."

I glance up at Vision's voice. "What?"

"That winged fellow, Vulture, whom you and Mr. Parker defeated a mere few weeks ago, has escaped from the Salem jail."

Tony pales.

"We assume he'll make his way to your location, so I hope you will proceed in your mission with caution. I wish you well."

Tony terminates the call and trudges to the opposite wall. "Barnes, we gotta get out of here."

I raise my eyebrows. "Uh, yeah. I agree. But _how?_ "

"I don't know!"

"Wow, real helpful, Tony. You were the one who was telling me to _relax_ earlier."

Tony grinds his teeth. "I get it!"

I run my fingers over the frost, every breath exiting as puffs of ice in the room's chill. "Do we really have no other option? We have to just…wait for the door to collapse?"

Tony flicks a metal finger at the door. "Yeah." The single word carries the weight of one thousand uncertainties. "What's our timeline? The risks?"

"Tony, they're gonna…torture Natasha. Probably Steve too. We don't have much time."

Stark's face flushes with the heat of a volcano. The clench in his jaw tightens until every feature is visibly trembling. "You got any bright ideas, _soldier?_ "

I struggle to rise. "Tony– ."

"Shut up." His eyes snap toward me. "This is _your_ fault. _You_ got us into this." The light of his suit flashes closer.

I grapple with the wall behind me and scramble to my feet as he approaches like a predator. "Hey, don't– !"

"I didn't ask, Barnes. I didn't _ask_ to be saved! I didn't _ask_ to lose my parents in one night! And I didn't _ask_ have my life _torn apart_ because of you!"

I blink rapidly at him, swallowing hard. "Tony, calm down."

"Really?" His gauntleted hand smashes into the wall inches from my head. "It's because of _you_ that Rogers and Romanoff are chained in this base. It's because of _you_ that they're getting tortured in here. It's because of _you_ that so many parents buried their children, Barnes!"

Unexpected tears spring to my eyes.

Tony's helmet closes over his head and his ragged breathing becomes robotic.

My nerves burn with the heat coming from my metal arm as I wriggle away from him.

He continues to watch me, his suit whirring with movement, as I cross to the opposite wall. "I'll never be _your_ friend. Don't try to plant seeds where the sun doesn't rise, _Soldat._ "

The tears are cold on my cheeks. The pain from his words is familiar, but it doesn't change how much it hurts. I'm panting from the strain in my abdomen as well as his Russian word. I shake my head. "What's it gonna take, Tony? What in all of this world is it going to take to have you see me as more than the Winter Soldier? As more than just…Steve's friend?"

"The only reason I'm keeping you alive is _because_ you're Steve's friend."

I wince and turn away. "That's amazing. Truly…amazing, Tony." I crumple against the wall as the pain my from my gunshot wound overwhelms me. "You've made as many mistakes in forty years as I have in one hundred years. Yet I'm known for mine and yours are conveniently forgotten? It's amazing, really." I sink to the ground, grimacing. "I had a life. Before HYDRA took me. I know, it's shocking. It's shocking that a bad guy like me wasn't always a bad guy."

Tony fidgets and cranks his helmet back. "Barnes– ."

"I had a crush. A cool art class. A friend group. A future. Someplace I wanted to be in life. I had dreams too. I wanted a wife someday. A big house, kids, grandkids…"

Tony takes a step toward me. "Hey, I'm– ."

I whip a hand up to stop him. "So don't you _dare_ tell me that I wasn't anything before HYDRA. I may not remember much, but I remember living."

Tony doesn't speak to me for the remainder of the day.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Not too long, I know, but a good start back into this book after a hiatus.

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	56. Chapter Fifty-Five - The Only Shadow

Once again, I apologize for the long interval between chapters! Life has been emotional recently and I didn't feel up to writing. But this chapter, I think, is one of my best! I got to write Buck's panic again, as well as Tony's sarcasm. :P

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Five - The Only Shadow

"You ready, Barnes?"

I brace myself against the freezing wall, shivering. "Yeah. Go for it."

Tony places his hands on the storage room's feeble door. "Jarvis, engage thoracic repulsor beam at max power."

"Your suit is at low battery, sir. It may result in– ."

"A week was long enough in here! Just do it, Jarvis!"

"Of course, sir."

The warm light of Tony's stealth suit fades away as the power transfers to his chest plate. A whirring sound retreats from his laboring suit, rising in pitch. The powering beam pulses with an ever-growing blue light and, with a flurry of sparks, the attack bursts forward. The door cracks down the middle and plummets outward. The earlier device Tony had activated shoots across the room like a bullet and clatters to the ground, useless.

Even the dim light of the HYDRA base is like a blue sky to our eyes, having so long been trapped in this chilled storage room.

Tony knocks on his helmet. "Jarvis? You there?"

Silence.

The helmet muffles the curse that follows. Tony reveals his face. "My suit's down."

"Well, he warned you."

"Don't forget, I still don't like you."

I grind my teeth. _Four days since that last argument and still…no progress._ I exchange a glance with Tony, working my jaw. "So are we splitting up, like you suggested?"

Stark nods. "Of course we are. We need info about HYDRA's plans, but we also need to find Rogers and Romanoff. Like we discussed– you search for our missing people, and I'll sneak around."

I rub my aching abdomen and nod toward the entrance. "Looks like HYDRA doesn't clean up corpses. That agent who tried to shoot you is still lying there."

Tony shrugs. His suit shrivels into nanoparticles and sucks into his wristwatch. "Perfect. I can steal his clothes."

I purse my lips. "That sounds wrong on so many levels."

"This wouldn't be a spy mission without some incognito-style sneaking. Come on, you should know that." Tony strips the agent of his outer gear and begins to dress in black.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and fidget at the sound of distant footsteps. A hot wave overwhelms me as I'm reminded of the hostile territory around us. "T-Tony, we need to go. This isn't– ."

"Really?" Tony whips around and quirks at eyebrow, half-dressed in HYDRA gear. " _Now_ you're panicking? I'm surprised you've lasted this long without Steve, to be honest. According to him, you have panic attacks about every– ."

" _Shut up,_ Tony!" The whisper is so sharp that my throat protests at the ferocity in my command.

"'Kay, fine. I'm almost ready, jackrabbit."

I dig the Winter Soldier goggles out of my pocket. "Why do you even call me that? It's distracting."

"Exactly."

"Are you _trying_ to get me killed?"

"Well, that wouldn't be– ."

"Don't even finish that sentence." I snap the goggles on and a shade of dusk closes around the world. "Answer me. Why do you call me that stupid nickname?"

Tony shrugs for the millionth time. "Because you're jumpy. Like a rabbit."

My fists clench and I stroll past him to the end of the hallway. "All clear."

"I'm not _ready_ , Barnes!"

"Keep your voice down."

"You don't have permission to order– ."

"Dispatch." I slide into the hallways without waiting for another word.

Lucky for me, Tony blasts through the comms:

"I told you I wasn't ready, Barnes!"

"So what? Were splitting up, aren't we?"

Tony grumbles.

"I'll head toward the jail. You get the info about HYDRA's attack."

"Brilliant. So where do I find that information?"

"Rumlow's office. Or the barracks."

"And where's that?"

"Upstairs." I raise my gun and turn a corner. "There should be an elevator at the end of this floor if I remember correctly. The higher floors aren't just empty rooms and jail cells. You'll find something up there. But once you do, _get out._ I don't want Rumlow to know that we're looking for clues about their attack."

Radio silence.

"Tony?"

"I'm trying to get into character– stop bugging me."

I grit my teeth. "Fine. Keep me updated."

Tony responds with his famous silence-says-everything answer.

Darkness sharpens and cocoons around me, accenting every tap of my footsteps on the vibranium floor. My heartbeat pulses in my fingers, which seize the pistol in a white-handed grip. Tight gloves, boots, and gear pinch as I walk, setting each foot heel first, then toe, at the slowest, stealthiest pace possible.

The hallway's end approaches.

Speeding up my steps, I round the corner and fling up my gun. Negative hostiles. The barrel tickles my cheekbone and I flex my fingers against the trigger. My wall of hair drapes like a veil over my face, casting me into my own shadow. Accented boots carry me in silence over the vibranium floors. My eyes hunt like a predator and scout every inch of every room in an obsessive frenzy.

In feverish haste I prowl, breathing raspy, blood fizzing in my veins, and stomach churning like helicopter blades. Sweat beads on my forehead and clings to the roadblocked furrows found on it. As my agitated trembling intensifies, the drops plummet onto the hood of my goggles, sliding off like rain on a window. Soon, my gear is drenched as premonition caves in. Chills shudder through my expectant position, yet the perspiring prevails. My abdomen twinges with the familiar ache of my half-healed wound and my stiff joints creak in pain.

Light stabs from ahead. I flinch with a hiss.

Exclamations. HYDRA agent. Gunshot.

I squash myself to the side and mash the trigger as an object whizzes by my head. Bullet shells pounce from my gun and blood splatters on the walls ahead. I lower my weapon.

Two bodies clog the corridor, stained in red.

My chest tightens as I approach them.

Blackened holes pierce their chest and stomach areas, oozing blood. The ribbons of crimson leak like rivers and pool at the blemished ground. Their exposed flesh drains sluggishly of color, yielding to ashen greys and death-kissed pallor. The folds of their masks peel away and reveal their limply-parted mouths. Lifeblood trickles along dry, cracked lips.

I picture the glazed eyes under the dusk-marked goggles and lower my gun, gnashing my teeth.

 _Why do I suddenly…?_

 _These were enemies. Not friends. I killed the right people._

 _I killed the right people._

 _The right people._

Swallowing hard, I inch around the corpses and continue. Gravity claws at my muscles and I steady myself against the wall.

 _These are my enemies. They're HYDRA. HYDRA is evil. It's okay to kill a few in order to serve the greater good._

 _The greater good._

 _HYDRA._

 _Is._

 _Evil._

Rumlow's trigger word rings in my ears.

" _Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu._ "

 _Homecoming._

Where is home?

Home.

I stagger to a stop and massage my temple. A shadow threatens. The only shadow.

 _HYDRA is my home–_

 _No, Brooklyn is my home. Not HYDRA._

The room spins and I collapse against the wall, panting.

 _What's wrong with me?_

 _"_ _I'm dangerous, Steve. HYDRA treated me like a monster and…maybe they were right."_

Another bout of chills shudders through my frail figure. I lay my head back and release a quivering breath. Giving in, I drop against the wall and slide toward the floor. A snap of pain claws across my abdomen and I crush my tongue between my jaws.

 _My…bullet wound?_

Flicking sweaty hair from my eyes, I strip off my goggles and fumble with my outfit's straps.

Belt off.

Then vest.

I tear a hole in my leather shirt.

And undergarments.

I rip my gear open and my heartbeat staggers.

The two messy scabs where the bullets had pierced me hide amongst inflamed flesh, pumping with heat. A foul odor drifts from the wound and I turn away, struggling to calm myself.

 _Infected._

 _Oh, gods, no…_

My eyes flutter shut and my teeth chatters. Blood thumps past my ears, one heartbeat at a time.

 _Thump… Thump… Thump…_

My breath quickens and my chest falls up and down.

Heat floods over me and dominates the cold of my fever with burning, blistering, boiling panic.

 _I can't make it. We're not gonna make it._

Everything blurs and black stars spot my vision.

 _Oh-no… Oh, gods, no– we're gonna die down here. It's over._

I lean over, hugging my knees.

My breathing is sharp, hollow, suffocating. Lungs collapsing. Throat closing.

I swallow hard and almost choke on my next breath.

 _I can't breathe. I'm gonna suffocate. I can't breathe._

Sweat pours down my face. My eyes screw shut and I gnash my teeth together.

 _Calm down, calm down, calm down, Bucky– calm d–_

 _"Mission report."_

 _Pierce's command rings in my skull._

A tingling sensation overwhelms my body. Legs. Jaws. Tongue.

I press myself back, hands scraping at the walls for something to hold. The sweaty gloves cling to my palms, the skin underneath hot and clammy.

 _We're not gonna make it. We can't make it._

I scramble with my gloves and wrestle them off, flinging them away.

 _"Mission report. Now."_

 _We're not gonna make it. We're not gonna save them._

I clamp my hands over both sides of my head.

 _We've failed. I've failed._

 _We can't do this._

 _"Zhelaniye."_

My trigger words come…

 _"Rzhavyy."_

One…

 _"Semnadtsat."_

By one…

 _"Rassvet."_

Like bloody illustrations of my past…

 _"Pech."_

Like the backhanded wish of my torture…

 _"Dobrokachestvennyy."_

Like nightmares in my shadow…

 _"Odin."_

Like teeth gnawing away my sanity…

 _"Gruzovoy vagon."_

A raw, seething scream cracks in my throat.

Tears sting on my face and keep coming. My nails bite at my temples as I squeeze harder. Harder.

Nausea rolls through me like a boulder.

 _Pierce lunges forward and strikes me across the face._

 _Pain flashes through my jaw._

Sobs tear through me.

 _It's too much. Too much._

 _I can't control this._

 _I'm crazy. I'm going crazy._

 _I'm gonna die alone down here._

 _I'm going insane._

My mind traps me in a shell of memories:

 _"I remember all of them."_

 _Metal fist, dripping red with innocent lifeblood. Metal fist, dropping a cold victim. Metal fist, strangling body after body._

 _Stop, stop, stop, stop– PLEASE, make it stop…_

 _Howard's pleading eyes reflect the fire from his wrecked car. "Sergeant Barnes…"_

 _Metal fist, smashing his face in._

 _Please, please, please…make it stop…!_

 _"There are no prisoners with HYDRA…"_

I rock back and forth.

 _"…Just order…"_

The world around me dies.

 _"…You ready for yours?"_

My heart revs up like an engine.

 _Please, someone…help me…!_

Darkness closes in.

 _I'm dying._

Breaking.

Falling.

Fading…

I jerk up from the floor and twist to the side to throw up everything in my stomach.

Fast-forward a minute.

I'm doubled over, coughing up bile.

Another minute.

I'm hunched over the ground, dry-heaving. My left hand seizes the wall as I gasp for breath.

Slowly, sluggishly, painfully, I drag myself back to my original position, gravity on the throne.

 _Wh-what just happened?_

I let my brain catch up with my body.

 _Breathe. I'm okay. Just breathe._

I fish a packet of frozen meat from my pocket to work through.

 _I'm okay._

One piece of meat. Then the next.

 _Calm down. I need to calm down._

 _Breathe._

A sigh escapes me.

I take a deep breath. _Okay. I just had a panic attack. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm safe._

But the searing of my abdomen reminds me otherwise.

All my energy sucked from my muscles, I lift a weak hand to the comm. "T-Tony?"

Nothing.

"Tony…?"

No answer.

"Tony, please…" My voice breaks and I slump against the wall. Tears prickle in the corners of my eyes.

 _Dang it, Tony… Forget the things I've said before… I really_ do _need you…_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Woooowww, things are not so good for Bucky.

Next chapter, we'll get more of Tony's mission! Yay!

Read and review!


	57. Chapter 56 - Taking Care In Hiding

Okay, so WOW!

I'm back!

This coronavirus thing has thrown so much out of whack. So sorry that it's taken so long, faithful followers and reviewers!

I've been struggling with mental health the past couple months, so I really had to take a break from writing and pretty much everything to deal with that because it was so hard and taking up so much of my life. I'm still deep in the recovery process, but it's going well and I'm back to writing!

One interesting fact, though: a lot of my experiences with terrible anxiety attacks I've put into Bucky's panic attack in the last chapter. I updated it based on that knowledge a couple weeks ago and I think it really packs a punch. It's also super personal as well.

Responding to some reviews!

 **Squeegee Beckinhime:** Awww, thank you so much! I appreciate it :D

 **Guest:** Thanks for your compliments! I'll spend a really long time on descriptions sometimes xD

Hopefully I'll have more time to write now that we're all cooped up at home!

Man, I'm excited for this change in Tony...

Enjoy, y'all!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Six - Taking Care In Hiding

"I'm trying to get into character– stop bugging me."

Bucky growls. "Fine. Keep me updated."

I grumble under my breath, low enough that Bucky can't hear me. "Gotta get upstairs. How'm I gonna get upstairs? Elevators, he said?"

 _"There should be an elevator at the end of this floor if I remember correctly."_

Yep.

 _I'm proud of myself. Found a way to get away from Barnes once and for all._

 _I can't get distracted by him. I've got a mission to complete and Barnes'll only get in my way._

I lift my arm and deaden the comms line. The static in my ears fades.

I scoff. _Take that, Barnes. You can't try to make amends now. We've got our missions, but we're doing this separately._

I adjust my mask and shift the positions of the HYDRA gear. Heat suffocates me and I clear my throat. "Gods, the humidity's so high that it's choking me." The baggy pants puff around knee-high boots. Underneath the fabric, sweat trickles down my legs.

 _I haven't wet my pants. I'm just sweating. A lot._

I scan my current outfit.

 _And rightly so. This thing is so thick that if someone filled my clothes with air, I'd be saying hello to space._

The halls prove absent, my backup gun unused.

Ten minutes. No agents to fight.

Twenty. Thirty.

Still no one.

My footsteps click on the floor. I narrow my eyes as I turn a corner. _The agents… I can't find any of them._ Danger crawls down my spine.

Time drawls forward. I make so many rights and lefts that by the end of my patience, I can't recall how long it's been.

 _Did I make a left before? Or a right?_

 _Come on, Barnes, why couldn't you have given me an address to Rumlow's office? Is it that hard?_

I twist my back and it creates sound akin to bursting popcorn.

 _The end of this floor, Barnes? How long is this floor anyways? I'm getting bored._

I scrunch up my face and raise a gloved hand to remove my goggles.

 _At least this peace and quiet can give me some time to myself. This place is a wasteland. Does HYDRA have housekeeping? Or…maids? Someone to clean up? I should hope so, otherwise–_

"Agent!"

I whirl around, almost tripping over my massive boots.

A HYDRA operative pokes his head around the corner, his beady eyes narrowed. "You lost?"

I clear my throat. Curses stream into my brain. _I don't know how to be an HYDRA agent. That's Bucky's thing, not mine._ "Uh, of course, sir."

This gets me a quirked eyebrow. "Elevators are this way, agent." He jerks his head opposite the way I'd been heading.

"No, I meant that I'm not lost. I know exactly where I'm going, sir. Confused you there, didn't I, Sprite-package? This heat's gettin' to me, I'll bet." I throw him a peace sign. _I'm struggling. Help._

The agent shakes his head and ducks into a separate hallway. "I'll see you at the _mandatory_ meeting then."

My stomach clenches and I inch behind him. _Meeting? Crap, didn't know that._ "Right behind you, sir. I considered skipping it, but…" I chuckle, scratching the back of my neck, "y'know how Mr. Boss Man is…"

His only response is a tsk with clenched fists.

I find enough sense in me to keep my mouth shut as I follow him.

He pivots around a corner and at the end of the hallway gleam two sets of mechanical sliding doors. As we approach, they loom over us like sentient robots, glaring from some high shadowed peak. They ripple silver in the flare of the agent's flashlight.

The HYDRA grunt stuffs the flashlight in a pouch and steps off to the elevator's side. He faces a slab of tech drilled into the concrete and taps the surface with a finger. The screen boots up with a handprint scanner and blue veins trickle around the device, much like a loading signal.

A rush of cold overtakes my mind. _Handprint scanner. Barnes couldn't have mentioned that particular detail?_ The river of curses in my conscious grows to an ocean.

The agent slides off his glove and presses his beefy hand against the screen. In response, the technology blinks green and swipes to an audio sensor. A voice prompts him to state his full name.

"Gavin Slatley."

The word _confirmed_ hovers on the screen and the elevator creaks open.

I nod to him as he shuffles into the entryway. _I'll wait til he leaves. I'll wait til he leaves._

But he doesn't leave. He pauses. He turns. He gestures to the monitor. "Go ahead."

My mouth runs dry and I swallow. Hard. I find myself consulting the one person I'd never think to get help from.

 _What would Barnes do? What would Barnes do?_

For a split second, I actually miss him. Maybe a little.

Really?

"Come on, agent. It's your turn."

Jolted from my thoughts, I take a few shaky steps toward the monitor. "Of course, of course. Technology is confusing, isn't it? I don't quite know how to work these things sometimes." I squat down and tilt my head to the side, pretending to examine the device. "Could you give me a rundown? A tutorial, perhaps?"

The agent– Gavin– squints and leans forward. He fumbles with his flashlight and a beam of luminescence pummels me in the face.

I recoil. "You son of a b– !"

"A comm." He frowns. "You've got a comm in your ear. Are you…?"

My knees lock and I lick my lips. "Y'know, Gavin, sir, we gotta keep in contact with Mr. Rumlow, don't we? He needs to be able to talk to us."

Gavin glares and rips something from his belt. "THIS," he taps a walkie-talkie, "is how we stay in touch. Or a headset in our helmets. Radio. Anything but a comm. Comms are for undercover ops and things of that sort."

"Well…" I shrug. "I found some of these yesterday and I thought I'd try them. They work great, let me tell you. I should– I mean, you should– Everyone's gotta try these sometimes, y'know what I'm saying, Gavin?" Perspiration leaks from every pore on my body. _Oh, I'm dead. I'm so dead._

Gavin holds the walkie-talkie to his mouth. "Sir, we've got a potential breach– ."

I lunge forward and crack my fist into his face. An elbow to the stomach and the back of his head knock him out. He crumples to the ground with a clang way too loud for secrecy. I drag him out of the elevator and pass through the entrance.

The doors slide into each other and lock in place.

I rip my mask and goggles off and slump against the wall, deflating with a huge sigh.

 _I made it. I actually made it._

The labeled floor buttons beg for attention.

Floor Number One, the current location.

Floor Number Two.

Floor Number Three.

Sectors A, B, C, D, and E, the latter of which has a keyhole beside the letter and a caption reading: _RESTRICTED - HIGH AUTHORITY ACCESS._

But which sector contains Rumlow's office?

I open the comms connection. "Barnes?"

A blast of static explodes in my ear. " _Gods,_ Tony, where were you…?" His thin, feverish voice trembles with pain.

"I, um…" Pursing my lips, I discover that the reason for our lack of connection is harder to admit than I think. "I turned my comm off."

Bucky moans. "Of course you did. You didn't want to be distracted by your parents' murderer, so you shut it off. That's so _you,_ Tony."

I huff. "No, I didn't do that!" The lie stings on my tongue.

"Okay, that's not true and you know it. You…" he inhales, sharp and raspy, "you hate me and make no attempt to hide it…" He trails off with a whimper.

I grit my teeth. _Why do I feel bad? I shouldn't be feeling guilty. This is the Winter Soldier we're talking about. Not some sad puppy begging at my feet._ "Hey, hey, what's going on? You sound like a dying candy cane, jackrabbit."

A few labored breaths follow my statement.

 _Barnes means nothing to me. He means absolutely nothing to me._

 _Always._

 _Right._

 _Right?_

I can't answer my own question.

"Barnes, you with me?"

"You think, maybe, you could…hurry your own mission up a little?"

I snap to attention, however, not from annoyance, and the persistent thought repeats. _Barnes means nothing to me._ I push it away. "What? Why?"

Bucky exhales, shaking. "I'm-I'm so sorry, Tony…"

The weakness vibrating from his apology carries the likeness of a mewling, wounded kitten.

 _Barnes means absolutely nothing to me._

I open my mouth to make a joke and nothing comes out.

Insults and levity don't feel appropriate anymore.

Is it because…we might be leaning toward…

Friends?

I shake my head.

Of course not. Totally false.

Right?

"Bucky, what's wrong?"

A pause. "Wait…you just called me– ."

"Yep. Don't let it go to your head. Tell me what's wrong or I'm blasting through this entire base to squeeze it out of you."

Bucky shifts his position. "Tony…the GSW…it's badly infected."

I freeze in place. "Hang on, what? _Infected?_ "

"Y-yeah…" Bucky barely whispers the word. "I've had a fever for…a good couple hours…" He slurs to a stop.

I bark through the speaker. "No, Barnes! Stay with me!"

"I'm-I'm here…just tired…"

"Listen to me, Barnes. I'll find out the day HYDRA plans to attack Headquarters, and that's it. What's the sector that Rumlow's office is in? It goes from A to E."

"It's usually…high up, but not all the way. Try…D…"

"Thanks, jackrabbit. In the meantime, try as hard as you can to get to Rogers and Romanoff's cell. I'll come see you after I'm done, got it?"

"'Kay…"

"Good. Don't die on me, Barnes. I'll be there as quick as I can." I end our communication line and yank myself to my feet.

A nagging thought pushes against my mind, one that I can't ignore, and it catches me off guard.

 _Dang it, Barnes… Forget the things I've said before… I really_ do _need you…_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Intentional repetition... WOOOO!

All righty y'all, I'm going to bed now xD I've spent too much time writing tonight, haha! Goodnight!

Read and review! Thanks for sticking around the past couple months!


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